Playing With Fire (Bindings III)
by ALetteredWoman
Summary: AU post S10. Sam's demon blood addiction is gone, but his power still remains and starts manifesting itself in his sleep. And a new disease begins to affect both humans and demons, hinting that an old enemy has returned. Sam/Rowena, Crowley/OC
1. Soul Kitchen (The Doors)

**What has gone before: At the end of Bad Blood (Bindings II), Sam's renewed addiction to demon blood, fostered by Crowley to provide him with a source of stolen wild power, is finally gone. Sam and Rowena, together, kidnap Dani, Crowley's lover, to lure him into a trap. When he arrives, Sam kills him. Sam, Dean, Charlie and Cas return to their temporary headquarters, the cabin in the Adirondacks, to celebrate Christmas, rest, relax, and recuperate. In the weeks following, Dani, devastated by Crowley's death, searches frantically through occult databases, seeking a spell to reunite his meatsuit with his soul, currently awaiting rebirth and renewal in a woman somewhere in Fresno, California.**

* * *

 _~~i don't like this.~~_

 _Too bad._

 _~~you're obsessed. this isn't going to work. and where will this poor woman be then?~~_

Dani shrugged. She honestly didn't care. She had a goal in mind. If she achieved the goal...well, then. She didn't care what happened to this unknown woman. If she didn't achieve it, she'd try a different method. Again, the effect on the woman didn't matter. All that mattered was the goal.

When she could feel Innie-Me stirring again, she thrust her down into the depths of unconsciousness. She had work to do, and couldn't be bothered by her jabbering.

They were driving through Fresno, quartering the city. Burt was driving. Dani was in the passenger seat, eyes focused on nothing, "listening". Liz and Sean were in the back seat. Everyone was silent. They all knew this was a huge gamble. If Dani couldn't locate the woman soon, the soul they were searching for would be changed, different, useless.

Dani had put together a binary search pattern. First, divide the city in half, circle the halves, determine which half had what they were looking for. Repeat the process for that half. Then the quarter. Then the eighth. It was an efficient method to search. So far, though, they had circled one half and found nothing, and were nearing the end of the circle around the second half. The silence had become heavy and dispirited.

Then...

 _There!_

Very, very faint.

Her head snapped up and she pointed. "There."

The three others stirred. Burt rumbled, "Are you sure? It's not just...um...wishful thinking?"

She turned her head to look at him, eyes solid black, face expressionless, but said nothing. He flinched. "Uh. Yeah. Okay, sorry."

"We will search this quarter first, since I didn't feel anything in the first half of the circle." She turned her head back to gaze out the windshield. She had lost the trace. But she'd find it again. Soon.

* * *

When they finally pinpointed it, the trace led them to a side street in a neighborhood of modest look-alike bungalows. Gardens and window trimming were the only touches of individuality; some houses had tidy privet hedges growing under neatly painted windows, some had large shade trees, some just had barren, winter-dry lawns with scrubby weeds and peeling paint on the window trim. The one they were parked near showed signs of care but was otherwise unexceptional.

"That one. Get her. Unharmed!" She shouldn't have to add that last, but felt it was necessary. The three others piled out of the car. Mid-day, no people in sight. No problem.

Dani waited, focusing intently on the house.

They emerged from the house five minutes later, a mid-thirties woman with short blond hair struggling between them and screaming. They dragged her to the waiting car, thrust her in, and got in themselves, Burt and Sean on either side of her in the back, Liz taking Burt's place as driver.

As Liz placed the car in gear and eased away from the curb, the woman burst into tears and sobbed, "Who are you people?! What do you _want_ with me? I swear, whatever you want, I'll do it, just don't hurt me! Don't hurt my baby! _Please_!"

Dani turned to look at her, eyes still solid, shiny black. "Baby. You know?"

The woman screamed again at the sight of the demon black, buried her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. "Oh god oh god oh god what are you what are you what - "

Dani reached with her power. The woman's mouth kept moving, but no words came out, which only made her more hysterical.

At least she was silently hysterical. Dani turned back.

 _~~dani...~~_

Dani squashed Innie-Me again.

"Barn," was all she said.

* * *

While they had located the right person, the other two teams had searched for, and found, an old abandoned barn on the outskirts of town. For purposes of the spell, it needed to have a dirt floor. The other eight members of Crowley's inner circle then precisely chalked out the required spell circles: two inner, smaller circles that overlapped, and a larger circle enclosing both of them. The larger circle was doubled, with Enochian writing between the two lines. When Dani and the others arrived with the captive, all was ready.

Dani glanced over the circles, and smiled faintly. They looked like a large Venn diagram, which amused her.

The other teams had already placed Crowley's body, still held by the stasis spell, into the left-hand circle; Dani now gestured to her trio, who pushed the woman down into the right-hand circle. Liz and Sean held her struggling body down while Burt and three others pinioned her, spread-eagled, with iron wickets pounded into the hard, compacted dirt.

"Okay, that's done," Liz said, standing up and brushing her long hair back. Dani watched as all the others drifted into place around the outside circle.

"Supplies?" Dani asked, surveying the layout.

"Here," Sean called out, nudging a duffle bag with his foot.

"Who of you have the most power?" She looked around the circle at them all. There was a hesitation, as they all looked narrowly at one another. Admitting someone else had more power than you was nerve-wracking, potentially dangerous, for demons. Finally, with some hesitation, a consensus was reached and hands were pointed: Burt, a middle-aged Asian woman, a slender, studious-looking black man, and the grandmotherly woman. Dani nodded.

"I will need to use your power." The four exchanged nervous looks at the reminder, then slowly nodded agreement. "It will hurt," she added quietly. More nervous looks. She stepped forward to the Asian woman, who was closest to her, placed steady hands on either side of her head, pulled it forward, and kissed her brutally hard, reaching with her power and latching onto hers. Unlike when Crowley had tested it with her, she was not slow about it; every minute spent was another minute his soul was locked away, bathing in maternal love - and, now, maternal fear and anguish. She yanked, hard, and the woman's power came rushing in like a flood. The demon screamed, tried to pull away, but Dani's hands held her like steel. Then the flood ended, Dani released her, and her body slumped to the floor.

Dani rolled her shoulders, tilted her head around, stretched, trying to stuff the power in and integrate it. Then she shook her head out, lifted it, looked at the next of the four who had volunteered, the studious black man. Wide eyes looked back at her, with a bit of fear.

She smiled perfunctorily. "She's just unconscious. The power regenerates. But it hurts, like I told you." The man clenched his jaw, darted a glance at Crowley's body.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" he asked, eyes locked on hers.

She shrugged. "No, I'm not sure. Maybe. Maybe not." She puffed out a small laugh. "But it's like following a recipe. If we follow the recipe properly, and if it works like it's supposed to..." She let it trail off. He bit his lips, then nodded jerkily. She stepped forward and repeated the process with him.

When she was done with all four, she felt like she had just finished Thanksgiving dinner - stuffed and uncomfortable. And very, very powerful. She reminded herself that it was temporary, that she didn't need it except for the spell, that it was a habit she shouldn't get into. She crouched down to the duffle, pulled out the obsidian blade, looked at it, shrugged, and sliced a jagged line into her arm. Unlike other blood magic spells, she knew that this one was going to take a fair amount of her blood.

She paced along the circles, tracing them with blood, which slowly soaked into the bare dirt. The conscious demons followed her progress with their eyes. The captive woman, exhausted from struggling - still silently - against the wickets, watched, too, with wide, terrified eyes.

Done with the tracing, Dani stepped into the overlapping area between the two bodies, knelt down, and pulled out more from the duffle: a silver bowl, herbs, pillar candles, kitchen matches. She placed two candles at the vertices where the circles overlapped, then two more at the peak of each arc, and lit all four at once with a flick of her vastly increased power. She put the herbs in the bowl, let more of her blood trickle into the bowl, then used another twitch of power to heal her arm. She sat back on her heels, looked at the bowl, at the two bodies, at the demons gathered around the circle.

"Well. Here goes," she muttered to herself. She lit a match, tossed it into the bowl, then stretched out to lay one hand on the woman's stomach, one on Crowley's. She concentrated mentally on movement, transfer, bridging, and forced her own power and the borrowed power into that mold.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the hand on the woman's body began to glow red. She could feel it, just as a flush of warmth at first, then, as the glow crept up her right arm, becoming hotter. And hotter. She drew in a hissing breath, the body - Innie-Me's body - instinctively wanting to withdraw from the burning sensation, which now felt like her hand and arm were dipping into molten metal. She forced herself to focus solely on the job, the spell, forced her hand to lie steady.

It _hurt_. Oh Lucifer and Lilith, it hurt so _badly._

She had no concept of time now. Everything was just searing pain. The burning was eating away at her power, bit by bit, just as slowly and tortuously as the red was burning at her arm, and now her torso. It felt like this was all that had ever been, all that ever would be, that she would be burning eternally with no end in sight.

Luckily, she had felt like this before, in Hell. It helped. A little.

Even so, she threw her head back and screamed, one long, continuous, agonized scream that echoed through the barn.

Through it all, she kept the hand on the woman's belly.

After an eternity, she realized that the tips of her right fingers were no longer burning. Her body shivered from the icy shock as the searing sensation retreated infinitesimally back up her arm, then seeped slowly out of her torso. Now all that was on fire was the left arm, hand on Crowley's heart, and all she wanted, desperately, was to have it end, to just pull that hand back, cuddle the burning arm against her body, make it all go away. But she kept her left hand flat, still forcing her focus on transfer, bridging.

Finally, she realized that the searing pain was gone, that the only thing still burning was her throat, which she had screamed raw during the process. Her body was wracked with shudders, response to the prolonged pain. Now, whether it had worked or not, she could pull her shaking hands away from the two bodies, pull them inward, clutch herself, rock back and forth on her knees, sobbing and trembling. Her body was drenched with sweat, her short hair plastered to her head.

All the borrowed power was gone, burnt away.

She vaguely registered that somebody was crouching beside her. She glanced that way. Burt. He was looking at her with wide eyes.

"Did it work?" When she didn't answer, he reached out, shook her. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a thin, scratchy keening. " _Did it work_?!" She flapped weak hands at him, then pushed with her power.

"Leave me alone," she croaked. "I don't know." She pulled in a long, shuddery breath, listed her head, stared at him. "I don't know," she repeated more firmly, running her hands through her hair. She could feel that some of it was standing straight up, but didn't give a damn. She looked at the woman, who was lying slumped on the floor, staring dully at the ceiling, then turned, slowly, awkwardly, to look at Crowley. Nothing seemed different. She looked back at Burt with dull eyes.

"I don't know. All of you, go away." He stood up slowly, looked down at her with narrowed eyes. Then he glanced around at the others, shrugged, waved them to the barn door. There were some murmurs of dissent, but they reluctantly filed out one after another, and the barn was empty and quiet.

She sagged, bent down to rest her head on her knees, and just knelt there for a long while. She ached, she hurt, she had a wild power hangover building up, fast, and all she wanted to do right now was rest for a thousand years. But. Best to deal with the hangover before it really hit. She sighed, sat back up, dragged the duffle weakly toward herself, rummaged in it for the thermos of hangover cure. Once she got it out, she stared at it stupidly for a few moments, trying to remember what to do with it.

"You're supposed to drink it, you bloody idiot." Rough male voice, faint English accent.

She blinked. A hand grabbed the thermos from her, uncapped it, thrust it at her mouth, and poured. She gagged, sputtered, coughed, swallowed, then grabbed the thermos back, tilting it up and slugging the vile drink down fast, before the taste really registered. She could feel it going to work right away, though she thought she might need another dose. Had she brought a second thermos? She couldn't remember. She blinked again, thoughts hazy and muddled, and turned, wincing at the stab of strained muscles, to look at who had helped her.

He was crouching beside her, hands dangling between his knees, dark eyes watching her narrowly. "Better?"

She nodded slowly. "Need more," she croaked. She vaguely thought she should be feeling something right now. Surprise? Joy? Satisfaction? It was beyond her. He disappeared, and she just sat there, drained, mind empty. A few minutes later, he reappeared, another thermos in his hands. Again, he uncapped it, handed it to her. She took it, looked at it.

"Bollocks. What have you been doing, you moronic little baby demon? I've never seen you like this." A warm arm settled around her shoulders, pulled her in to lean against his body, and the thermos was at her lips, tilting more slowly this time. She drank, leaned against his body, closed her eyes.

"Again."

She cracked her eyes open. The thermos was in front of her face. She drank some more, closed her eyes again. The warm arm around her shook her gently. "More."

"Don' wan' more. Wanna sleep," she muttered. The shaking became rougher. She just snarled weakly, pushing at the arm.

"Bollocks - again. I was just greeted by Davis, who turned white as a sheet and then got slobbery and sentimental at me. And you're like this. In a bloody drafty barn. What the _hell_ has been GOING ON?!" the voice roared.

She pushed at his arm again. "Lemme 'lone. Tired. And hurt."

"Tch. Let's fix that, then, shall we?"

Warmth and energy began seeping into her, which, frankly, she didn't want. At first. But it kept bleeding in, against her will, and slowly, bit by bit, the haze began to lift and the pain to recede. At some point, it got through to her that, yes, she was resting against a warm male body, that she knew that body, that it hadn't been warm for weeks -

She stiffened, twisted around, stared at him.

"It worked!" she breathed. She seized his shoulders, shook him. "It _worked_!" Her unbelieving hands were on his face, touching him, stroking his beard, running through his hair, patting him in small dabs.

He grabbed her hands impatiently, held them off, frowned at her. " _What_ worked, dammit?!"

She stared at him. "You don't remember?"

"Remember _WHAT_?!"

"You were dead - Sam Winchester killed you - Rowena somehow held your power down - he stabbed you with an angel blade - "

He narrowed his eyes at her, slowly let her hands drop. He tilted his head as if he were listening to something, eyebrows meeting in a thoughtful frown. "Dead. So...we are in - ugh!" He shuddered slightly. " - Fresno?" She nodded. He squinted out at the dimness of the barn, eyes half-lidded. "And you, my little head research honcho, found a spell to bring me back from the womb before I was...washed away? Erased?" She nodded again. "Well." He nibbled at his lips, seeming at a loss for words. He looked around, his eyes settling on the captive woman, still pinned to the floor. "And that would be...my...potential mother?" He looked at her with a mildly horrified expression. "For my potential 'normal', everyday new life?"

Dani looked at the woman, too, frowning. "Yes," she answered slowly. "And we need to send her back home, I guess. We're all done with her."

He scratched the back of his head. She watched, such a simple, habitual movement filling her with relief. He tilted an eyebrow at her. "We should kill her." At her questioning glance, he added, "You have, after all, killed her baby. I assume. Usually makes people a bit vengeful, pet." The bound woman's eyes closed in misery at the announcement about her baby.

Dani waved a dismissive hand. "She can't do anything. Let her live." To forestall any objections, she reached deep, focused, and flicked her back to her home. At the last moment, she remembered to remove the silencing geas, too.

Crowley was leaning back, arms and lips folded in exasperation. "Bad idea, Dani-girl. Best to tie up your loose ends." Dani glared at him. He shrugged. "Well, then. Home?"

She glanced around. "The others - they should be back soon - "

"Others?"

"Your inner circle. I needed help."

"They'll see me soon enough." He stood up, reached out for her hand, pulled her up. She leaned wearily against him.

"Not sure I can flit..." she mumbled. She could tell that her power was depleted, especially after transporting the woman. Even with the infusion of energy he had passed on, she was doing all she could to stay upright. His arm swept around her, pulled her close.

"No problem, pet," he murmured against her hair.

They vanished.

* * *

 **A/N: Are you a new reader brought in by my posting a new chapter? If so, does having the short "What has gone before" paragraph help you with this first chapter? I added it after realizing that this chapter could be confusing or off-putting for new readers, with no Sam or Dean, and Crowley being a background figure (dead!) through most of the chapter. Let me know what you think!**


	2. These Dreams (Heart)

_He wanders the cabin in the darkness, but it's not dark to him. There are glowing ragged lines tracing along the bottoms of the walls, inching upward towards electric outlets and light fixtures. Not a lot; the cabin was built as a vacation home years ago, and the builders were mostly interested in the basics. He can see the faint blue glow of Dean's soul shining behind his bedroom wall. No sign of Cas's bright blue-white presence; he must be out in the woods, playing with the voles and mice and what-not._

 _He trails his hand on the wall as he gets close to his own room. A slight tug, and the glowing yellow line down by the floor arches up to meet his hand, like a cat arching its back. He smiles, amused at the thought, halfway expecting to hear it purr. He pushes open the door, and flips his hand at the yellow line; it subsides back down as he walks inside. Then, just for fun, he pulls the line back up, inside the room, and strokes his hand along it, pushing a blob of golden light further and further along, until it reaches the lamp on his chest of drawers. The light bulb glows brightly in both normal and other-sight, brighter and brighter. He laughs._

In the dark room where Sam lay curled on his side, sleeping, the lamp on his chest of drawers burst into brilliance. Then the bulb popped with a gentle tinkling of broken glass, and the light vanished. Sam slept on.

* * *

Crowley sat in one of the burgundy arm chairs in his bedroom, a small, soft light focused on him, reading the latest book from one of his favorite trashy romance writers. Every once in a while he would glance over at the bed, favoring it with either a worried look or a frown. Sometimes with a worried frown.

Dani was asleep, but she tossed and turned, muttering under her breath. Her tossing and turning had made a complete mess of the luxurious bedding - the overstuffed brocade comforter had long since been kicked off into a pile on the floor; she had pulled the blanket loose and twisted it into a ball up by the headboard, with the heap of pillows; and she had managed to wrap the burgundy sheet around herself like a straight jacket. So he was utterly unsurprised when her latest bout of mumbling got louder and louder, and her tossing and turning morphed into a frantic struggle against the sheet.

He laid down the book, stepped over to the bed, and sat down beside her, reaching out to touch her shoulder gently.

"Dani," he said softly.

"Burning!" she gasped, head shaking back and forth.

"Dani!" he called louder.

"Can't do it. Wanna stop, please, please, let it _stop_!" She was sitting up now, weeping in her sleep. He folded his lips, clasped her shoulder tighter, and shook her.

" _Dani_!"

Her eyes flew open, but she didn't see him. She tried reaching out, then gasped when her arms wouldn't move. Her eyes widened, staring desperately at nothing, and she began twisting, pushing at the sheet wrapped around her, beginning to pant and keen like a trapped animal.

He shook her harder. Then, when it seemed to have no effect, he squinted thoughtfully, sighed, let go with one hand, and slapped her crisply across her cheek.

She drew a quick breath, then her eyes seemed to focus on him. "What the hell was _that_?" she snapped angrily.

"Ah. Back in the land of the living, I see." He looked for an edge of the sheet to start unwrapping her.

She frowned. "What?!"

"You were dreaming. It seemed unpleasant. You wouldn't wake up. I took measures."

She blinked, and her eyes unfocused again. Then she shrugged, shook her head, and said, "Hunh. Dunno. Don't remember any dream. Just you slapping me and realizing I was trapped." He had found a corner, and passed it behind her and around her front, then discovered another edge and frowned at it, perplexed. She looked down, too.

He held the two corners, one in each hand, trying to unwind first one, then the other, then both at the same time. "Ah. There we go." He uncovered one of her arms, which she promptly ran through her sleep-tousled, sweaty hair.

"Ugh. Damp. Bleah. I guess it must have been a bad one," she said lightly, her voice still hoarse. He stopped his careful unwrapping, and flipped an ironic eyebrow at her.

"You think?" he murmured. "Trust me. Very bad. You, pet, wrapped yourself up like a burrito, and I am finding it fiendishly difficult to unwrap you." He puffed out a small, amused snort, and added softly, "Like a particularly attractive present, I must say." He pulled her forward, slid an arm around her still imprisoned waist, and dropped a soft kiss on her bare shoulder. He nibbled the silky flesh for a moment, then sighed and drew his head back to look down at her.

"I assume you can start working your way out of this?"

In answer, she pulled loose her other arm, and began slipping the linen cocoon downwards.

"Now. Tell me what happened. I got us back here and you promptly fell into my bed, fell asleep, and have been asleep for three full days." Her jaw dropped, and she mouthed an astonished, "Three _days_?!"

"Yes. Most impressive. All I got out of you before you collapsed was that I was dead, embodied in Fresno, and somehow you got me back. I take it Moose...erm...killed me. How disappointing. And my mother was involved. What a surprise." His lips quirked into a sardonic grin. "i suppose I'm going to have to do something about it all. Boring."

She just watched him, then reached out to touch his face with a tentative hand, as if she still couldn't believe it. She spoke slowly, hesitatingly. "They summoned me, held me in a devil's trap. You came. They caught you. Rowena did some hex that...smothered your power? Sam Winchester stole the angel blade from your jacket with his power. And then everyone was there - Dean Winchester, his angel, Charlie, her Reaper. And then Sam Winchester gutted you..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked over his shoulder into the distance. He poked her to continue. She glanced back at him. "Then I found a spell in the Book of the Saved database - "

He arched his eyebrows, surprised. "Database? Miss Bradbury has been busy."

She waved the interruption away. "Two weeks. You were dead two weeks. We went to Fresno. Found the growing body. And I performed the spell..." She drifted off again, breathed sharply in, eyes out of focus. " _That's_ what I was dreaming about. The spell." She looked back at him, her face gaunt with remembered pain. "I almost didn't finish it." She laughed harshly. "They could publish that thing on the Internet, give everyone a personalized copy, and still it wouldn't be done often, if at all. It took all my power, and I had to drain your four strongest followers, too.. Still almost broke it off before it was done. It...hurt," she finished abruptly. He could tell it was an understatement. He wrapped her in his arms, leaned back on the pile of pillows smashed against the headboard, and rested his chin on her head.

She curled into him, yawned, and, without warning, fell asleep again. He frowned down at her, sighed again, then snapped his fingers to summon his book. He resettled himself more comfortably, perched the book on her shoulder, and started reading again.

* * *

 _A spitting, furious Charlie, angry that Sam and Cas have spirited her away, calls him, tells him what Sam is about to do. He drops the phone and starts running to the bunker's dungeon, hoping, praying that he'll get there in time, before Sam does what he's set out to do._

 _He gets there, and Cas and Crowley - Crowley?! Crowley's dead, right?! - are standing before the door. He snarls. "Out of my way, dammit!" Crowley smirks, Cas frowns, both ready to stop him. He pulls the First Blade, and the mindless chant of KILL KILL KILL begins, as always. But he's slow, so slow - it's like they are all mired in mud, as Crowley steps forward in increments, lifting his angel blade, and all he can think is STOP SAMMY! And KILL KILL KILL, the blade croons to him. Cas says something, but it's like slo-mo from a movie, his voice slowed down to a ridiculous wowing sound._

 _All he knows is Sam is about to make the worst mistake in his life, time is ticking away, and he can't move any faster than a snail. Behind the door, he knows, Sam's world moves on at normal speed, and he is busy making the deal that will free Dean from the Mark, but destroy their lives - and everyone else's -_

Dean woke up abruptly, shaking, teeth clenched, sweat plastering his short brown hair to his head.

 _Damn. Bad one._

He stared up at the dark ceiling, reassuring himself that while, yes, he had killed Crowley and Cas, and hadn't gotten to Sam in time, and that the next five months were hell on earth, Sam was now free of Lucifer and his renewed addiction to demon blood, Cas was very much alive, and they seemed to have settled down - for now, at least - into the cabin in the Adirondacks. So why was his subconscious pestering him with these nightmares?

"Gah," he told the surrounding darkness firmly. "Enough of this shit - "

A sharp rap on the door interrupted him. He ran his hand through his sticky hair, grimaced, and flicked on the bedside light.

"Yeah?"

The door opened and Cas poked his head in.

"You look awful. Are you dreaming, too?" He frowned.

"Too? What, you've decided to take up sleeping and having nightmares? Waste of time, man." Dean sat up, swung his legs off the bed. Cas stepped in and leaned against the door frame.

His frown didn't change. "No. Sam. I heard him yelling..."

Dean frowned back at him. "Well, he's likely to be having nightmares for a while. Hell, _I'd_ have nightmares after what he's gone through."

Cas pursed his lips. "Judging by what he was saying, it wasn't related to Lucifer or the demon blood."

Dean waited for more explanation. Finally, "Well? What _do_ you think it was related to?"

Cas sighed. Than he stepped forward, sat on the end of Dean's bed in a worried slump. "He was saying he couldn't control it. He was begging it to stop. And he was yelling that innocent people would get hurt." Cas put air quotes around "it" each time he said it. "Then he settled down, so I didn't wake him."

"Um." Dean chewed on it a while. "Okay, then. What do you think it was about?"

Cas rolled his eyes, gave Dean an exasperated look from under his eyebrows. "Power. _His_ power."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, frowning unconsciously. Sam's power. Somehow, after everything that had happened, Sam had come out of the whole fucking mess with his psychic powers back, permanent now. Every time he thought about it, he flinched away from that realization. Psychic bullshit. No matter how many times he told himself it didn't matter, this was Sammy and he loved him, the knowledge that Sam was a full-fledged psychic just made him sick. Irrational, idiotic, unthinking prejudice that he had to get over somehow. Because otherwise, he and Sam were going to be repeating the same moronic fight, over and over again.

 _Dammit. Think of it like it's his nose, or arms, or long hair, or grey-blue eyes. Just part of him. If he had diabetes, you wouldn't be getting all bent out of shape about it, would you? Same thing._

"He's worried about controlling it, Dean. He needs training, if only to make him feel better about it," Cas said quietly. Dean darted a look at him.

"Well, it ain't gonna be that bitch Rowena, dammit!" he snarled. Not after how she had used him in her scheme to kill Crowley. Underneath the glitter and glamor, she was the same as Crowley, maybe even worse - everything she did was for her own benefit, no matter how altruistic it appeared.

Cas shrugged. "Then we have to find someone else. The Grand Coven is in disarray since Olivette disappeared - "

Dean snorted. "Gee, I wonder what could have happened to her...?" he muttered sarcastically. Cas rolled his eyes again.

"Whatever. The point remains: find Sam someone who can provide him training."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, both rummaging in their brains for an answer.

* * *

Something had woken her. She sat up in the bed, staring around in the darkness, searching for whatever it was, then relaxed when there was no sound of intruders, nothing but Dave's soft snores from where he was sprawled in the bed beside her. She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and laid her head on them, tears trickling out.

She had known. Before they went back to Dr. Steinleitner for a follow-up ultrasound, she had known. That man in the black suit, with the British accent, had sounded quite sure when he said that...whatever they had done to her...had killed the baby. Their baby. Her baby. Little Alex. She had already named it in her head, then one night shyly told Dave. He was still in a state of shock that the IVF had actually worked - overjoyed, but stunned. He had smiled slowly at her, pulled her gently into his arms, and murmured against her hair, "Alex. For a boy or a girl. Yeah. I like it. Alex." And then they had swayed together, standing up, both dreaming of the future.

And then that future was ripped from her, from them, by a band of black-eyed strangers and a petite woman with short chestnut brown hair and an expressionless face with shiny, beetle-black pools of darkness where eyes should have been, who had terrified her with her focus, single-mindedness, coldness. There had been smoke, and blood, and a small hand on her chest, and the woman had screamed so long and loud. She had wanted to scream, too, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

And then the end, where the black-clad man, who had been lying stiffly in the other circle, had climbed to his feet, come over, talked nonsense with the terrifying woman, then nonchalantly brought her world crashing about her ears with that one sentence: "You have, after all, killed her baby."

So here she was, in the dark, weeping. They'd try again, yes. But she mourned the unknown child named Alex, and wondered what Alex would have been like.

"Mommy?"

She froze, then slowly - ever so slowly - turned her head. There was a girl sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. Long dishwater brown hair. Braces. Smiling. Gangly, in that way that pre-teens have, when their bodies start growing swiftly, stretching out, losing the last traces of baby fat. She looked to be eleven or twelve.

"Who - who are you?" she croaked.

"Mommy, it's me, Alex!" The voice was softly hurt, as if to say, "How could you forget?!" She leaned her hands on the bed, hunched down, swung her legs against the side of the bed, darted a glance at her. "Mommy, I'm sorry. It's not fair! What they did to us!" She frowned fiercely.

"Alex..." she breathed, reaching a tentative hand out to touch the girl's cheek. Yes, see - those were Dave's eyes, Grandma Campbell's cheekbones, her own hair. She pulled her hand back slowly, barely daring to breathe. "Alex..."

"They took this from us, Mommy. Me, you, Daddy. Snuggling on the bed on rainy winter mornings. Homework. Soccer. Baby teeth coming out. First dates. We should have had all that!" She put medium-sized hands on her shoulders, looked her in the eyes. " _You_ should have had that."

"Yes..." she said softly. "We should have." She stroked the long hair back from Alex's face, tucked it behind an ear. "I couldn't stop them, baby. I couldn't. I couldn't even get away - "

Alex smiled. "I know, Mommy. You tried." A hand wrapped around hers, warm and soft. "They stole me from you. And you should have justice for what was done."

She frowned slightly. It was out-of-place, what her girl had just said... She blinked, looked at Alex more closely, and said, slowly, "This...this is a dream, right? You're not really here."

Alex smiled. "Yes. And no. I am here. But I am not really Alex, but what Alex would have looked like, become, if she had lived. A loving God wouldn't allow things like that to happen. He certainly won't give you justice for it. But I am here to offer you a chance to get that justice..."

"Alex" kept talking. Her heart was breaking all over again, but the promise of justice - revenge, actually, if she were honest with herself - was whispering in her ears. And at the end, she found herself saying, "Yes," firmly, without reservation.

* * *

 _He sits cross-legged on the bed, long legs interlocked comfortably. He's taken the flames from two candles into his hand, and is making them dance around each other, his eyes following the movement, enchanted. He reaches out with the other hand, plucking fuel from the air - motes of dust, small particles, oxygen - and feeds it slowly to the two flames, watching them grow. Now they are too big to fit into one hand comfortably, so he tilts the hand, lets one of the flames slide down into his other hand. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he sends them dancing into the air, hovering over his hands. Another flick, and they start circling each other, then one darts away and he sends the other following, smiling with delight._

 _He feeds them more motes and oxygen. They grow._

 _And then one of the flames brushes up against the old, dusty curtain on the window. The curtain, dry from years of hanging in the window, bursts into flames. He frowns, gestures. The curtain fire starts shrinking, but his attention is divided, and the two free flames bumble around the room, brushing up against fabric, wood, the old carpet, and suddenly he faces a roomful of flames. He quickly conjures up an iridescent blue containment bubble, sends it skittering from spot to spot, wrapping, shrinking, dispersing each small fire. But there are too many of them, too spread apart, and his bubble falls further and further behind. The room fills with smoke and the smell of burning fabrics -_

A hand was slapping his face. "Sam! _Sammy_! Get up, dammit, c'mon, we've got to get you _out_ of here - !" He blinked, grabbed at the hand.

"Dean - ? What's going on?!"

Dean grunted, pulled him up. "Good. You're awake. C'mon, c'mon, out, out, _now_!"

His room was on fire. It crackled and roared, and the flames swirled around in a breeze of their own making. Dean was pulling him to the door. He could see Cas by the door, glowing brilliant blue-white, spreading out his hands, palms down, as if to calm a stormy sea. He and Dean stumbled out, coughing, and Cas, released by their absence in the room, did _something,_ and the fire settled, sank down, shrank, and then all that was left was glowing embers which sputtered and dimmed and then went out, too.

Cas lowered his arms, tilted his head as if listening to something, then nodded and turned to them. A faint smile flickered on his lips. "No oxygen, no fire," he said quietly.

Dean leaned his back against the hallway wall, then slid down to a seated position. Sam doubled over, coughing again, and felt a warm, fleeting touch on his forehead, then no more need to cough. He twisted around to smile at Cas. "Thanks."

"Smoke inhalation. Easy to take care of. Your turn, Dean." He reached out to lay his hand on Dean's forehead, let it rest there just a little longer.

Sam straightened up, peered into his room at the mess, then glanced from Dean to Cas and back. "What the hell happened there?" he asked.

Dean folded his lips and frowned at him. "You did, dude."

Sam blinked, not comprehending.

"Sam. You started the fire. In your sleep." Cas's eyes were shadowed with worry. "I sensed something amiss, we got here just in time. Any longer..."

Sam shook his head once, perplexed, grimacing. "Wha - ?! Me? _I_ set the fire? No." He shook his head again, denying it. "That was just a dream."

Dean sighed and stood up again. "Yup. 'Fraid so, dude. Not a dream." He gestured at the burned room to emphasize. "Or, maybe you were dreaming, but you did it in real life, too."

"This is a problem, Sam," Cas said quietly, sternly.

Sam just stared into his room, mouth opening and closing. Finally, he drew in a shuddering breath and responded lightly, "You think?"


	3. It Keeps You Running (Doobie Brothers)

**A/N: I had to chuckle when the first reviews showed up. "Ugh! He's back so soon?", followed shortly by "Yay! Crowley's back!" ;-)**

* * *

They trooped into the cabin kitchen, Sam wearily scrubbing his face with his fists, Dean rubbing the back of his head and yawning, Cas with a worried frown on his face. Sam sighed deeply as he sank into one of the kitchen table chairs and stretched his long legs out. Cas sat down across from him and Dean pulled out a third chair, reversed it, straddled the seat, and crossed his arms on the chair back. Sam's sleeping T-shirt and sweats were smudged with soot. A faint odor of burnt fabric sifted through the air. Dean quickly got up, opened the window over the sink, then sank back down in his chair, eyes flicking back and forth between Sam and Cas.

"So," Sam started, breaking the thoughtful silence. "Does this mean I can't go to sleep again? I mean, I can't do that. Seriously." He threw a desperate glance at Dean, who grimaced and shrugged.

"C'mon, Cas, there's gotta be something we can do for him." Dean leaned his chin on his arms, squinting at the angel.

Cas clasped his hands on the table and frowned down at them. "I can...'smother' his dreams. I think." He shot a look at Sam. "But..."

"Of course there's a 'but'," Dean murmured sarcastically. Cas gave him a repressive look, and continued.

"I can only do it for so long before it becomes a serious problem for Sam. Mentally." They both focused on him. He sighed. "Sleep without dreaming - even if you don't remember the dreams normally, you have dream states - is unhealthy for humans. Sam would begin to experience the same symptoms as a person with sleep deprivation."

"Awesome," Dean muttered.

Sam's shoulders slumped. He dropped his elbows onto the table and sank his head into his hands. "There has to be a solution. People with power - well, they've been around for - for millennia, right? So they've figured it out, right? Surely the Men of Letters training files have something about this - "

Cas shook his head. "The people we know about have figured it out. I assume that many, many people who develop psychic gifts that can be dangerous have simply...not survived their unconscious manifestation." He started idly tracing designs on the tabletop with a finger, his eyes unfocused. Sam closed his own eyes in despair. Dean frowned, his jaw working. "And the Men of Letters...though they were scholarly and masters of research, the majority of them did _not_ have inborn power; they used hard training to get proficient. The third category of witches. They would not have had this problem."

Sam surged out of his chair and started pacing the room, his hands closing into fists, flexing open, then closing again. "Then I need training from someone who does have inborn power. Which takes us back to Ro -"

"Oh, no! Don't you say that bitch's name, dammit! You're not going anywhere near her again!" Dean growled. Sam stopped pacing momentarily, threw him an angry glance, then started up again. Dean glared at Cas, almost as if he were to blame for the situation. "What about - about - what if there's a spell somewhere that can - can - oh, say, turn off Sammy's power -"

Sam stopped dead. "No."

"Whaddaya mean, 'no'? If you're gonna kill yourself in your sleep - or hurt or kill other people - "

"I said, ' _NO_ ' I'm not going to - give it away, give it up - " Sam's voice was rising.

"Dammit, Sam! Shit like this has no upside! All it's done is land you in trouble, over and over again - " Dean stubbornly set his jaw, and transferred his deepening glare to his brother, who glared back, fists clenched, body tensing up.

"I don't want to hurt anybody by accident, but - It can be _useful_ to us. I _want_ it. And it's _my_ life, _my_ body - dammit, Dean, you just don't understand - " The muscles around his nose and mouth were beginning to twitch, and his breath was coming in small huffs.

Cas looked from one brother to the other, stood up, and said, firmly, " _Enough_. Dean, Sam - stop. We've been down this road before. And we discussed it earlier, Dean - Sam needs training. _You_ know it. _Sam_ knows it. No matter what your opinion of psychic powers is, this is Sam's decision, not yours."

Dean folded his lips grimly, narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Sam nodded curtly, took a deep breath, and tried to relax the tension in his body.

Cas sighed. "If we still had the bunker, I would recommend you sleep in the dungeon; the amount of warding there would have protected against such accidents..."

They were all silent, lost in their thoughts for a while.

"The Grand Coven," Dean said abruptly. Cas and Sam looked at him. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, if we aren't gonna turn off Sammy, and he needs training, they'd be the place to look, right? Just as long as it's not Rowena."

Sam started to say something, stopped, drew in another deep breath, and said, "Yeah. Okay. That's a starting point."

At the same time, Cas nodded, said, "Good idea, Dean."

Dean stood up, straightened the chair, slid it back against the table, and started out of the kitchen, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "So now you've got research to do, dude - how do we get hold of someone from the Grand Coven? And _you_ \- " He swung around to point a finger at Cas. "You do that hoodoo you do so well on Sammy here. For a while. 'Cause I gotta tell you, _you_ may not need sleep, but _we_ \- " He gestured to himself and Sam. " - do!" With that, he marched out, obviously not happy, but glad to have some kind of plan.

Sam glanced at Cas.

"So...this 'smothered dreaming' thing..." he started uncertainly.

Cas stepped forward, laid a fleeting hand on Sam's forehead, then stepped back with a small smile. "Done."

"No more accidental fires?" Sam asked dubiously.

"For a while. Maybe a week."

"So that's my timeline, eh? Well. Guess I'd better get to work, then."

* * *

She entered the small bank branch with a light, eager step. She had plundered memories from her host ruthlessly to make it this far; driving, getting a plane ticket and flying, renting a car, driving some more. Along the way, she had called, and the two she had tagged were here, waiting. She flicked an amused, lopsided smile at them and headed to the special teller at the end, the two men following close behind her.

She smiled briefly at the teller. "I'd like to access a safe deposit box." The key had been another stop on the way here.

The teller engaged her in some rigmarole about the box number, signing in, comparing signatures, then led her back to the vault. Keys were inserted and turned, the box withdrawn, and the teller said, "Just let me know when you're done", then discreetly left.

She opened the box, pulled out the smaller, sealed box inside, broke the seal and opened it. Snugly nestled in the styrofoam lining were two metal vials. She smiled her lopsided smile again, pulled them out, and held them for a moment, concentrating on adding a little something. Then she handed one to each of her followers.

"This one..." She gestured at the vial labeled "#241". "Go to New York City, child. Get on the..." She paused a moment, rummaged through suppressed memories again for the right word, ignoring the whimpers of pain it caused. "...subway. Open it. Smear what's inside on poles, door handles, railings - anything people will touch." She waited a beat. The shiny beetle-black eyes looked puzzled, then the man shrugged, pocketed the vial, and walked out.

She turned to the other follower. "You. I think...yes. The court of the King of Hell. Do the same thing." She smiled sweetly at him, cradled the man's cheek with a gentle hand.

"But - the court?" He started to protest, his eyes also flashing beetle black, and the hand on his cheek tightened slightly, manicured fingernails biting into his cheek.

"Do it, child." Her cold eyes latched onto his and held them for a moment. He swallowed, bowed his head.

"Yes, Father."

"That's a good boy." The hand turned gentle again, reached up to tousle his hair. Then she tilted his chin up, tapped it with one long finger. "Off you go, little one."

He turned away and exited the vault. She looked at the box, pursed her lips, shrugged, and closed it, returning it to the safety deposit box and closing that. She stepped out, glanced around, gestured to the teller who had helped her.

"I'm all done here. Thank you for your help."

* * *

The first Grand Coven witch they found right away, in just a few hours, which immediately made Sam dubious. Surely it should be - well, _harder_ to locate one of the coven's witches? But Ethan, scruffy and bedraggled as he looked, and easy as he was to find, was delighted with the prospect of a student and eager to begin at once.

Unfortunately, Sam wasn't as delighted by the reality of Ethan. The witch spent the trial day lecturing him on witchcraft history, droning on in a monotonous voice that sent Sam's eyelids drooping and his mind wandering - when he wasn't just struggling to stay awake. At the end of the day, Cas swept Ethan away and returned with a thunderous frown.

"He is worse than useless; he is giving you incorrect information. His Enochian is garbled, the grammar atrocious, and the so-called 'history' he was feeding you - " He stopped, folded his lips, and waved his hands wordlessly, frustrated. "Hearsay. Rumors. Lies. Incoherent!" He looked at Sam gravely, shaking his head. "I am so sorry, Sam, but - "

Sam didn't need persuading; one day with Ethan rambling pointlessly on and on was enough.

A bit of chatting up their Hunter network, plus a location spell, produced Melanie. She spent the trial day coaching Sam on how to do a simple spell to conjure a ball of light. Or, at least, the beginnings of a spell. She criticized every stroke of the sigils he chalked out under her instruction and made him re-do the spell circle five times; insisted that herbs gathered personally by Sam under the light of the full moon were the only herbs to use (she shuddered at the idea of herbs from the grocery store); and made him polish their silver spell bowl until she could see herself reflected perfectly in it. By the end of the day, they hadn't even started the actual spellwork.

After Cas left to carry Melanie back home, Dean dropped a bottle of beer on the table in front of Sam and snorted. "Dude. _You_ know, and _I_ know, that plain ol' McCormick herbs work just fine. We've used them a million times. And our spell bowl was a mess because we _use_ the damned thing. Want my opinion? She's too fucking finicky. She may teach you, but it'll take years, and you'll end up a rigid, picky bitch just like her. No good in a fight." He tilted an eyebrow at his brother. Sam just grunted, nodded, and slouched down in his chair, taking a gulp from the beer Dean had thoughtfully provided.

They were halfway through the week Cas had given him.

"So what now?" Sam sighed.

"Now?" Dean opened a bag of chips and began munching. "Well. Hell. We find you another potential teacher, that's what we do." He slapped his empty hand on the table decisively.

"Dean...we - I don't have much time." Four days left. He was keeping track of the days, fearful of what came next. Maybe Cas could remove the geas that stopped him from dreaming for a few days, watch over him while he slept so nothing happened, then re-apply it? He stole a glance at Dean, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, knowing that suggesting Rowena again would be a no-go with him. Dean eyed him narrowly, tilting his own beer bottle back and forth on the table, jaw working. Oh, he knew what Sam was thinking, that was obvious. Sam sighed again, looked back down at his beer.

"Hypnosis? Yoga? Some kind of 'mindfulness'?" Dean grimaced, popped a chip into his mouth, and mumbled through his food, "Just tossing out ideas here."

They were actually good ideas; Sam pondered a moment, then shook his head. "If it was that simple, wouldn't Cas have mentioned it?"

Dean pointed his bottle at Sam. "Dude's an angel, not a witch. He may not know." He leaned back his chair, laced his hands behind his head, and thought for a moment. "In the meantime..." He leaned forward again, dropped the chair to its feet on the floor with a thump. "Let's see if Charlie has any ideas."

* * *

Dani began staying awake for longer periods of time. She was still exhausted, her power still a small fragment of what it had been, but the exhaustion was waning, and the power was growing back, she could tell. Still, it frustrated her, to be stuck in Crowley's bedroom. She wanted to be back in her light, airy nest, with her bold, colorful prints, the gleaming hardwood floors, her computers, her files and books on occult research.

Innie-Me was simply thankful she was alive, and nagged at her, hovering mentally like a helicopter parent.

After her third stint of wakefulness lasting more than an hour or two, Crowley nodded, grunted, and announced that since she seemed to finally be recuperating, he would leave her in Davis's devoted care. She looked up at him sourly.

"Lucky bastard. Oh, go on, get out of here. You've been getting more and more antsy, cooped up here with me. You don't need to do it. I'll be fine." She picked fretfully at the plump brocade comforter, focused on it, aware she sounded petulant. The bed sank a bit as Crowley sat down, pulled her into his arms, and dropped a quick kiss on her head.

"You're getting better, Dani-girl. Start pushing yourself a bit. In the meantime, I have a kingdom to pull under my control. Idiotic demons can't be trusted on their own for too long, more's the pity. With no-one to keep control, they'll bollux something up. It's been weeks; I'm surprised there've been no disasters yet."

She kept picking at the comforter. "I'm _bored_ , dammit!" It came out as a whine, and she bit her lip, ashamed. Crowley looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"Get on my computer, pet. See what's been going on in Hell. It'll entertain you, and possibly help me. Don't lie there feeling sorry for yourself, it's unattractive." She flushed angrily. He stood up, brushed a speck of lint off his sleeve, and vanished. Dani sighed, leaned back on her throne of pillows, and looked moodily around the room.

 _I hate this!_

 _~~i hate it when pb is right. stop whining. you need to start pushing yourself. go on, get up, do something. and have davis bring you some real food.~~_

Dani considered the idea of food. She was so damned sick of broth and soup. She sighed, pushed the covers off, and forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed, then stand up. "Davis?! Get me the Metro Delight from Mark's, would you?"

He must have been positioned very near the bedroom suite; his head popped in before she was done speaking. His bland face sported a worried frown. "Are you sure, Miss Dani? It's not too much for you?" He saw that she was out of bed, and stepped further in, frown deepening. "And are you sure you should be up - "

"Davis. Look. I need to be up, moving, pulling myself together. Just lying in bed all the damned time is a bad idea. _Yes,_ I'm sure!" she snapped. "And I'm _starving_!" The image of the breakfast from Mark's Bistro suddenly had her drooling. She realized that she was ravenous.

Davis opened his mouth to say something disapproving, folded his lips for a moment, then replied in a stiff tone, "Very well, Miss Dani," and marched back out of the room, his back radiating disapproval.

"Stop _worrying_ , dammit!" she snarled after him. There was no response. She ran a hand through her short hair, shuddering at the lank greasiness, and walked over to Crowley's computer. She had long since set up a login for herself, so she no longer had to guess at his password. She sat down, logged in, and started browsing the _Demon Daily Online_.

A few hours later, stuffed with pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit and perfectly brewed coffee, she headed back to bed, mulling over the gossip from DemonNet and news items from the _DDO_. The piece that stood out the most was the story about Basil going berserk then being killed; she knew Basil - _had known_ Basil - and it didn't sound like him at all. Oh, well. She suddenly realized she was exhausted again, but it was different this time. It didn't feel like she was struggling to stay awake anymore; it was a more...healthy...kind of exhaustion. Her head hit the pillow, she closed her eyes, and fell back into dark, peaceful, healing sleep.


	4. Signs (Five Man Electrical Band)

Rowena swept into the restaurant, her eyes quickly scanning the diners to locate her group. There: Morgana ( _such_ a reach, borrowin' Morgan Le Fey's name!) and Gwen, seated at a table in the back. Rowena murmured to the maitre'd in passing to indicate she was joining a group. She breathed in the delectable scents of Chef Renfrew's cooking, absorbed the quiet, elegant atmosphere with a satisfied smile, then threaded her way through the artfully scattered tables, long skirt swaying gracefully around her ankles. When she reached the table, she waited a beat for the maitre'd to pull out a chair for her, swirled her dress around, and sat daintily, smiling archly at the two other witches.

"My dears! It is _so_ very good to see you again! It's been far too long, yes?" She leaned forward to air-kiss Morgan, then did the same for Gwen. Both of them eyed her skeptically. She pursed her lips momentarily, eyeing them surreptitiously, then flipped open her napkin and draped it across her lap

"Rowena," Morgan drawled in greeting. Gwen merely raised her eyebrows and smiled faintly. "So just why are we - you - here? We did hear about Olivette's...disappearance, y'know."

Rowena waved a dismissive hand. "Och! Darlings! Let us not waste time on Olivette, eh?" She paused while the waiter poured her a glass from the bottle of wine beside the table. When she judged him safely out of earshot, she continued. "I asked you to join me here to discuss formin' a new coven, a better coven, than our old and outdated Grand Coven. Now that Olivette is out of the way - " Her eyes glittered with satisfaction. " - we are finally able to...oh...express ourselves in a way that wasn't possible when she was the leader."

Gwen's skeptical expression deepened. She hid a slight grimace by taking a sip of her wine. Morgan tilted an eyebrow. "Do tell about us 'expressing ourselves'..."

"Well! Girls, you know that we _all_ have the power inborn. And that Olivette - sainted be her name, I'm sure! - found us all needin' of restraint. Which, of course, stunted us all when it comes to explorin' the power. So now that she's...vanished...I'm proposin' we re-organize into a new coven, a - a - " She paused a moment, waving a wordless hand, thinking. Then her eyes lit up. " _Mega-Coven_ , grander than the Grand Coven ever was! With the three of us bein' the leaders, of course." She smiled broadly at them, inviting them to share in her great dream.

The other two were silent for a long moment. Morgan coughed. Gwen took another sip of wine, put the glass carefully back on the table, and slanted a look at Morgan. Finally, she folded her hands on the table, and murmured, "Do tell us, Rowena...why should we be listening to a witch who can't even keep an apprentice?" Morgan snickered.

Rowena's eyebrows twitched together in a tiny frown. "Gwen, dear, what _are_ you natterin' about?"

"You don't know...?" Gwen questioned dryly. Rowena folded her lips, and she looked at Morgan for enlightenment. Morgan smirked at her.

"Oh, we've been hearing things, y'know."

Rowena's frown deepened. "No, I _dinna_ know!" she snapped. "What 'things' have you been hearin'?"

Morgan leaned back in her chair, waved a hand. "Oh, this and that..." She snickered. "About how your apprentice, that Winchester boy, has been...oh, talking to other witches from the Grand Coven, looking for training..."

Rowena drew in a shocked breath, feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach. " _What_?!" she shrilled. Looking for training from someone else? No. Not possible.

"Oh, dear. You really didn't know?" Gwen's soft voice was sweet with false sympathy. "Oh, yes. He tried _Ethan_!" She covered her lips with a hand to muffle a chuckle. "And then Melanie. No doubt, he's looking for someone else by now, you know what Melanie is like..."

The two looked at Rowena with bright eyes, enjoying her utter surprise and dismay.

" _Ethan_?! That...that...useless heap of dung?!" Rowena's voice rose. She found it difficult to believe what she was hearing, but the way Morgan and Gwen were practically wetting themselves, it might actually be true. She had been sorry to see Samuel go, turning his back on his potential. But _this_? Training with someone else?

"And Melanie..." Morgan murmured, eyes dancing with malicious glee. "Maybe I should offer myself up. Though he _is_ one of those Winchesters..." She shuddered.

Rowena wadded up her napkin and tossed it on the table. She pushed back her chair, stood up, and glared at them, tossing her mane of red hair back haughtily. "Och, _no_! That boy is _my_ apprentice! _Mine_! There will be none teachin' him the ways of power except _me_ , you can be sure of that!"

Morgan laughed. The scornful note slid right through Rowena, making her quiver with rage. "Well, _he_ seems to want a replacement. Maybe your training wasn't quite as good as you think?" she asked lightly. She slid her own chair back and stood up, too, Gwen joining her. They looked at her with open contempt. "And since you can't even keep an apprentice...well, really, Rowena. Why on earth should we join this so-called 'Mega-Coven' of yours? Please." She rolled her eyes. After a pause, she marched away from the table, Gwen following.

Rowena stood there, seething, face pale, small fists clenched in anger. She ignored the surreptitious glances sent her way by nearby diners. The meeting had started so well, but now... Her plan to form a new coven tossed in her face! And the news that Samuel, rather than denying the use of his power, was actually looking for someone else to teach him - that was beyond bad. It slashed at her very reputation amongst witches, and at her vanity. Besides...well, she had thought they had been approaching a rapport. Not the sex, though she had to admit, it had been very enjoyable. But he had learned things from her, was beginning to understand his power, beginning to come into his own. An idiot like Ethan, or a persnickety dullard like Melanie, or scheming Morgan - none of them would be able to guide him the way she could. No-one could!

She spun around, ready to leave, only to almost crash into the waiter, who was hovering anxiously behind her, distressed by the scene.

"Madame..." he murmured discreetly. "The bill...?" He extended a small black leather folder, waiting for her to take it. She snarled, snatched it from him, reached into her purse, and returned it with a small hex bag perched on top. He sagged a moment, eyes dulling, then murmured, "Thank you, madame," and headed away, the bill forgotten. She watched him leave with narrowed eyes.

"Humph!" she finally huffed. She tossed her head again and made her graceful way toward the restaurant entry, thinking furiously. She paused to snap "And just what might _you_ be gawpin' at, pray tell?" at one interested bystander, then stalked haughtily out the door.

* * *

While Sam suffered through Ethan and Melanie's "training", Dean worked on repairing the burnt-out room. He ripped out the wallboard, pulled up the charred flooring, hauled the detritus and burnt furnishings off to the county dump. It was relaxing. Walls and floors didn't try to kill you. This work was _fixing_ things, dammit, rather than trying to stem a never-ending tide of disasters. He could take his confusion and mistrust about Sam's powers out by wielding a sledgehammer and crowbar.

Now he stood in the shell of Sam's room, looking around, absently running a hand through his hair. Time to head into Saratoga Springs to a lumber yard, hardware store, get supplies. He swung up his bottle of beer, took a gulp, nodded decisively, and strode out of the room.

"Heading out to the Springs," he called to Cas and Sam as he headed to the cabin door. Sam, head down over the open laptop, grunted acknowledgement; Cas, buried deep in "Basin And Range", just waved. Dean snorted, shook his head, and left the cabin.

He spent the drive in singing along to music on the local classic rock station and drumming the steering wheel in rhythm. No troubles. There was nothing supernatural on their radar...Jodi was dealing with some werewolves - lycanthropes, he reminded himself; Rudy was taking care of an infestation of ghost possessions in Nevada...but nothing more. Nice and quiet. Dean's superstitious side squinted sidelong at that, fully expecting all hell to break loose at any moment. Things were never quiet for long.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the local news mentioned something about a rabies scare. He snorted. Rabies. Nice and normal.

Quality Hardware's lumber yard was actually in Hudson Falls, a bit further than he'd meant to go. He pulled into the parking lot, gravelly voice crooning along with "Nothing Else Matters", then killed the engine and headed inside to dicker with clerks.

He was busy with Jerry, figuring out how much framing material and drywall he'd need, when the racket started. Someone seemed to be shouting, and there was the clatter of two by fours being tossed around. Dean glanced up, met Jerry's eyes. Jerry craned his head toward the aisle where the noise was coming from, frowning.

"This happen often?" Dean asked, straightening up and lifting his eyebrows.

Jerry grabbed his walkie-talkie, keyed it. "Hey, Tom? What's going on over in 9?" The walkie-talkie sputtered with static, then Tom replied, "Dunno, I'm heading over - " The voice stopped, the static resumed, and there was a scream from the same area where the noise had come from.

Dean was already on the run, headed toward the scream. Jerry joined him. They rounded the corner to Aisle 9, and skidded to a stop. Halfway down the aisle, surrounded by scattered lumber, a man was crouched over another man spread out on the floor, smashing his fist into his victim with robotic regularity. The punches landed with sickeningly squishy sounds. They could see blood - a lot of blood - pooling on the floor around the body.

Jerry drew in a sharp breath, then rushed forward, yelling, "What the - ! Hey! Hey, you! Get the hell off of him - !" Dean was right beside him. The man lifted his head, looked at them barreling down on him, and stood up, snarling. Jerry slid to a stop and knelt down by the body. Dean, meanwhile, was already on the attacker, hooking his arm and yanking him away. He dropped the arm, cocked his own back, and sent his fist into the guy's gut, then followed up with an uppercut to the chin when he doubled up from the pain.

Usually that would be enough.

This time, however, the man just stumbled back up, shook his head roughly, snarled again, and launched himself back at Dean.

"Holy _shit_!" Dean mumbled, dodging. He could hear Jerry on the walkie-talkie, calling for help and an ambulance. The attacker, eyes crazed, turned on him again, and his awareness of their surroundings faded as he narrowed his eyes, focused on the guy.

The next few minutes were a blur. They smashed into the shelves of lumber, causing more to fall off. Dean staggered and tripped over some of the scattered wood, and abruptly he found himself being held down on the floor by the snarling, grunting man, trying to hold him off as the guy's head came closer and closer to his neck. It seemed as if the he was thinking of taking a bite. _Okay, let's just give a great big nope to that_. His arm muscles stood out like cables as he strained to keep the head away, but the guy seemed filled with unnerving strength, like he was hopped up on something.

Suddenly, there were two cops behind the attacker, pulling him off, struggling to hold him. Dean sat up, ran his hand through his hair, and panted. A third cop joined the two, and they wrestled the guy to the ground, face-down, and cuffed him. There were EMTs clustered around the man on the floor - Tom? - and one swung over to check on Dean. He waved her off impatiently, with an "Eh, I'll be fine." She frowned, but backed off.

The cops managed to get the captured attacker turned over, and then they all froze.

"Jim?!" one said, puzzled.

"Yo! Jimbo! What the fuck - ?" said another. The attacker tried to jerk free, growling and snarling.

"You know this guy?" Dean asked. The second cop flicked worried eyes up to glance at him.

"Hell, yeah, we all do. It's Jimmy Coughlin, lived here all his life. Went to school with him. Just got back from business in the City. Prob'ly here to get some wood for his renovations, he's fixing up his bar."

One of the cops started patting Coughlin's face, saying, "Jim! Hey! It's Robbie! Jim, y'okay?" Coughlin turned his head, growled, and promptly bit the cop's hand. The cop screeched, tried to yank his hand back, but Coughlin's teeth were dug in, his jaw was set, and he wasn't letting go. In a flurry, the cops managed to pry his mouth open, get him back on the ground. One of them sat on him, just to be sure he wasn't going anywhere. Coughlin's body bucked, trying to throw him off. Another cop joined the first.

"Shit shit shit! Jen, get over here, Jimbo's gone and bit Andy, and it's real bad!" the third cop called out. The EMT who had tried to help Dean came rushing back over. Dean scooted back, out of the way, and stood up, eyes narrowed and focused on Coughlin. He folded his arms, rubbed his chin, and tuned out the uproar.

If he didn't know better, he'd think it was Croatoan. But Coughlin didn't have the telltale signs of reddened eye-whites, bleeding eyelids. Just the behaviors.

 _Hunh_.

He searched out Jerry, clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey. You guys are pretty busy right now. I'll come back tomorrow, we can figure out then what all I need."

Jerry nodded absently, worried eyes on Tom, still surrounded by EMTs. He waved a hand, said, "Yeah, yeah. Thanks." He seemed to come to for a moment, and realize who he was talking to. "Really. Thanks. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been here. Jim might've gotten me, too..." He looked at Coughlin, frowned sadly. "So, y'think it's drugs or something?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno, man." He clapped him on the shoulder again. "Hang in there. I'm off."

He replayed the scene in his head multiple times on the drive back, chewing it over.

* * *

Sam puttered in the kitchen, making a sandwich, his mind on various possible leads on more members of the Grand Coven. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and frowned at nothing. The problem was that every member of the coven they'd found was a bust. He really wanted to be back training with Rowena, but so far as Dean was concerned, her very name was anathema. Of course, take that with a grain of salt: so far as Dean was concerned, Sam's...abilities...themselves were anathema. He scrubbed his face with a fist, sighed again, and focused on the sandwich.

He was eating when the cabin door opened and Dean came in. One look at him and Sam was on his feet, saying, "Whoa! Dean, what happened?!" Cas looked up from his book, concerned, and got up, too, heading to Dean.

Dean shoved the door closed and leaned against it, frowning, arms folded around a grocery bag. He ducked away from the fingers Cas was reaching out to his forehead and snapped, "Dammit, don't fuss! I'm fine!" Cas raised a dubious eyebrow, but backed away a bit. "As for what happened..." He snorted and pulled away from the door, moved to the dining table, dropped the bag on it, and dropped himself into one of the empty chairs. He drummed his fingers on the table, chewing his lips.

Cas retreated to the room divider between kitchen and living area, leaned against it, and folded his arms. He kept his worried eyes on Dean.

"Guy went berserk at the lumber yard. I helped get him down. Where's my beer?" He turned and looked around the room.

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Want a new one?" Dean nodded, and Sam stepped into the kitchen to grab a cold bottle from the fridge. He came back, popped the top off, and handed it to his brother, who took a swig, thumped the bottle down on the table, and leaned back in his chair, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling.

"So...what? Some guy snaps. That's not too unusual these days," Sam commented, sitting down. Dean slid his eyes to him.

"It's just...the way he behaved. Snarling. Growling. Animalistic. The dude tried to _bite_ me, dammit, and _did_ bite off a cop's finger!"

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. "Croatoan?" Sam frowned, flicked a glance at the angel, then looked back at Dean.

Dean sat up straight, pointed a finger at him. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But that's the thing. No bloodshot eyes, no bleeding around the eyes. So. Behavior like Croatoan, but no outward signs." He paused while they digested his description. "I did hear on the radio that there's some kind of rabies scare going around...so maybe that was it. Dunno." He spun the beer bottle between his hands a couple of times, then shrugged and took another drink. He put the bottle back down and started rummaging in the bag.

"In the meantime...I got this!" he announced, pulling out can after can of Febreze.

"Dude. What the hell is that for?" Sam asked. Dean grinned at him and grabbed two cans.

"Better living through chemistry, Sammy!" He surged up, marched into the hallway, and shouted back, "Place reeks of smoke! Even after I pulled everything out!" He was spraying as he walked. Sam and Cas trailed him. He kept spraying, and Sam, after coughing, choking, and uselessly waving a hand to clear the air, backed up, bumping into Cas. Cas steadied him with a hand on his elbow. He was frowning again.

"Dean. You do realize that you are spraying so much of that...whatever it is...that I can barely see the air molecules?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him, and pushed him back into the living area. "Cas. Dean's philosophy is that if a _little_ bit of a chemical helps, then a _lot_ of that same chemical must be better." He strode around the room, opening windows, then went to the door. "Coming? The cabin's gonna be unlivable for a few hours."

"I heard that, Sammy!" Dean shouted from the back of the cabin. Sam grinned, grabbed his jacket, opened the door, and escaped the miasma that was forming. Cas looked toward the hallway, shuddered, and followed him out.


	5. Back In Black (ACDC)

_Back to being bored. Back to being irritated. Back to being frustrated._

It was _good_ to be back, he reminded himself. Large and in charge. He snorted at the cliche, then returned his attention to the long line of petitioners, interspersed with prisoners.

 _Blah blah blah,_ he thought while half-heartedly listening to the latest charges being recited by Burt. He had told Burt that if he was going to be a majordomo, he'd damned well better look the part, ditch the overstretched T-shirt emphasizing his beer belly, away with the backwards ball cap. So now Burt stood beside the (awkward, uncomfortable, irritating) throne dressed in an ill-fitting suit. The stiff dress shirt he wore was as stretched out over his abdomen as the previous T-shirt. His tie was too short. Crowley squinted at him through narrowed eyes.

"...thus causing...uh...causing...um." Burt stuttered to a stop as he realized his King's eyes were focused on him, not the prisoner, and not in a relaxing way. He fiddled nervously with the parchment he had been reciting from. "Um. Sire? Have I...um...failed you in any way...?" His voice squeaked on the word "failed".

Crowley crooked a finger at him.

He stuck a finger under his collar, tugging at it as if it were too tight, and inched forward a bit.

Crowley just looked at him for a few moments, eyes traveling up and down his frame. Then he sighed. "Burt. Pet. I am going to do you a favor and give you the name of my tailor, plus a tailoring allowance."

Burt flushed. His eyes widened, and he looked down at himself as if trying to figure out what was wrong. Crowley closed his eyes in resignation, sighed again, re-opened them, and waved a languid hand. "Continue."

He tuned out the recital, keeping just enough attention on it to catch the pertinent details: conspiracy with both Abbadon _and_ Jemma. When Burt was done, he barked out, "Kill him." Burt complied with pleasing swiftness: he drew an angel blade and stabbed the prisoner in the gut. Everyone in the court watched avidly as the death light traveled across his head, poured out of his mouth, nostrils, eyes. As the electrical short-circuit sound sputtered, signaling his death, Crowley snapped, "Next!" He drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne.

 _Boring, but it has to be done._

He eyed the demon who had slid to his knees before him, bowing down and beginning his plea.

That was when the demon next in line went crazy. Snarling, growling, eyes steady black, he leaped on the petitioner, seized him by the throat, and started both twisting his victim's head and banging it on the rock floor. The surrounding demons were too stunned to react immediately, but when he ripped his victim's head off, and started toward Crowley, enough stepped forward with drawn angel blades that they got in each other's way.

Leaving a free path directly to Crowley. The manic demon started running toward him.

He rolled his eyes, stood up, snapped his fingers, and his attacker's head exploded. The body dropped to the floor.

That made _two_ headless bodies messing up his throne room.

Everyone froze.

Crowley dusted off a sleeve, then sent a heavy-lidded look wandering over the crowd. "Well?" he prompted. Dead silence. "What? Does anyone here have an explanation for how a rabid demon managed to make it within THREE BLOODY FEET OF ME?!" he roared. A great deal of shuffling feet and hanging heads was the response. He slid accusing eyes from one to the next, until he had carefully skewered everyone close to the throne.

"Perhaps next time, my cupcakes, you'll have some...contingency plans...in place? So that you don't trip over each other like the Keystone Cops?" His voice was acid. He stepped off the dais, crooked a finger at Burt again, and started out of the throne room. He stopped, waited a beat, and swiveled to face them all again. Demons who had been relaxing and huffing relieved breaths stiffened back to attention. He smiled dangerously at them, eyes glittering. "And if... _if_ this ever happens again..." His eyes wandered over the crowd again. He paused, letting their imaginations take over. Then he pointed at a random demon.

"You! Yes, you!" The chosen one stepped forward, eyes darting nervously around. "Clean up this fetid mess!" Crowley snapped. Then he whirled around and stalked out, Burt trailing behind him.

At least he wasn't bored anymore.

 _How the hell does a demon go insane?_

* * *

Charlie stared at the browser on her tablet, blinking. She re-read, just to be sure. But, yes, there it was, the top hit on her search: " _Sam Winchester, I have heard that you are seeking an apprenticeship with..._ "

She stared at her Hermione bobble-head, perched on the table, wand at the ready, and chewed her lips for a moment. "Okay, H. You know, and I know, that doing these searches on the boys' names usually doesn't bring up diddly squat, and I'm just doing it to make sure nobody's gossiping about them. Or scheming. Or - or - well! Doing nefarious things!" She grinned at H. "I love that word. 'Nefarious'. But all of a sudden, boom! There's this personal message. Hunh." She glared at the screen, drew in a deep breath, then punched at the "...more..." link.

The new page loaded, and she snorted. "Oh, God, H. Purple! And lilac! And stuff about the goddess! And...omigod...yup. A fairy! With a wand trailing stars! It's like - like - ugh! It's a mother lode of witchy cliches!" She rolled her eyes, then pushed her shoulder-length dark red curls out of her eyes and scanned down the page.

It was a forum post, from a "Morgan Le Fay".

" _Sam Winchester, I have heard that you are seeking an apprenticeship with a GC witch to train your power. E. and M. were easy to find because they are the least of the GC. I, however, worked closely with O., and am well-versed in the power. If you're interested, PM me here. Morgan"_

There were already a few responses, ranging from " _Ew. A Winchester? Really?_ ", to " _OMG! That gorgeous hunk needs training?! I'll be happy to train him, if ya know what I mean!_ " Charlie snorted at that one.

She sat back, frowning, eyes staring into space, thinking. First, why was Sam looking for training? Surely now that he was free of the demon blood addiction, his natural power wouldn't be causing trouble? And second...who the heck was this "Morgan", and why was she volunteering like this? "GC" must be the Grand Coven. "O." was probably Olivette. But who were "E." and "M."? She chewed over the thoughts, then straightened up, dug her phone out, and dialed Sam.

* * *

Sam huddled over the laptop, long mahogany hair drooping down around his face. No clues. Not a trace. He'd followed various leads on supposed members of the Grand Coven, only to have them sputter out, die off. This was the last lead he had been able to dig up, and it had turned into yet another brick wall. He bit his lips and thumped his fist on the table. "Dammit!"

Cas looked up from his book. He had joined Sam at the table that morning, probably in an attempt to be supportive - if being supportive meant occasionally glancing at him with worried eyes. "Nothing?"

Sam pushed the laptop back roughly and ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back out of his face. "Another dead-end," he growled. He stood up, paced into the kitchen, and opened the fridge, staring blindly at its contents. Then he grabbed the orange juice, poured himself a glass, and returned to the dining table. He heard hammering beginning again in the back of the cabin; Dean had returned with his materials after another trip to Hudson Falls yesterday.

"Nothing. I _thought_ locating Ethan and Melanie was too easy. It was probably because they're incompetent." He snorted. Then, against his will, he found himself yawning widely, so widely that his jaw popped. When he had looked in the mirror that morning, there had been bags under his eyes. He seemed to sleep soundly, but he woke up more and more fatigued each morning.

One more day. Then they'd have to do something. He slid his eyes to Cas, opened his mouth, about to broach the subject, and was interrupted by his phone's ringtone - "Walking On Sunshine". He grabbed the phone, thumbed "Answer", set it on speaker, and dropped it back on the table.

"Charlie!"

"Hey, Sam." Without a pause, she plunged right in. "So. There's this forum post about you - from someone named Morgan? Anyway. She says you're looking for training, and that 'E.' and 'M.' were just low-level 'GC' members - that's Grand Coven, right?" Sam drew a breath to respond, but she was already going on. "So this Morgan says she'd be willing to train you, and - "

He sat up straight, suddenly very interested. "Wait. She's offering to train me?" Cas looked at him, flipped an eyebrow up.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I just said. Anyway, so, if you're interested, she says to PM her - that's 'private' - "

"Private messaging, yeah, I know," he interrupted.

"Okay then. I'm texting you the address - "

Sam's laptop and phone chimed in unison. He pulled the laptop forward, clicked on the link. He blinked at the display. "God, Charlie, that's - that's - "

"Yeah, I know, totally ratchet purple. Ugh. But, really, maybe you should check it out."

He scanned the text of the post. Charlie had given him the gist of it. He chewed his lips, drummed his fingers on the table. "So you don't know anything more than this?"

"Nope. But if you _are_ looking for training...are you?"

He nodded absently, then remembered she couldn't see. "Yup."

"Why? I thought the training you were getting from Rowena was to - to control the demon blood stuff."

He flushed. "Well. I...um...sort of almost burned the cabin down..." he mumbled.

" _What_?!"

"Charlie," Cas interjected. "It appears that if Sam dreams about using his power, he actually _is_ using it, in the real world. He was apparently...playing...with power in a dream, and started a fire in his room. We got him out just in time."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then, "Whoa," Charlie said in a low, awed voice. "Yeah, I could see that being a problem. Whoa. Hi, Cas," she added. He smiled softly.

"So you _have_ tried out 'E.' and 'M.'? And they didn't work out?"

Sam barked out a laugh. "Didn't work out is a gentle way to put it, but, yeah. Cas has my dreams on lockdown, but apparently you can't do it for too long. I have one day left, then he has to loosen the screws a bit, let me dream some. I _need_ \- "

She was speaking at the same time. "So you need to learn to control it even when you're unconscious. Boy howdy. That's a problem. Hunh."

"So if this Morgan has any clue - which, by referring to Ethan and Melanie, I'd say she has - then I have no choice. I've got to contact her." He drummed his fingers again, then nodded abruptly. "So that's what I'll do. Thanks for the heads-up, Charlie."

"Sure, sure. Just...next time, give me a clue that something's going on? Like, oh, say, _call_ me?" She sounded a bit miffed.

Sam flushed again. "I thought Dean had already, but I guess he spaced it out after his run-in with the crazy guy at the lumber yard - "

She interrupted again. "Crazy guy? Like, ripping people to shreds type crazy? 'Cause we've had three in the news here in New York lately. They're saying it's rabies, but I dunno..."

Cas and Sam glanced at each other with small frowns. "Yeah..." Sam said slowly. "This guy had been in New York just days ago. Weird. Maybe they're related..."

Charlie was silent again for a bit. Then she sighed. "Okay, then. Well, I've passed on the post, so you do what you gotta do with it. And...just in case...I'll keep an eye on the news, maybe do a little nosing around the health department."

"You do that, kiddo. Bye."

"Bye, bitches!" she sang out, and the connection ended.

* * *

Sam stood and watched Dean working with a small smile on his face. It was late, but Dean had been busy with the bedroom walls all day.

He knew his brother well enough to know that doing physical work was one way Dean had to take out his frustrations, though normally he'd work on Baby. But the Impala was in very good condition right now, whereas the cabin wasn't. The way he was handling the hammer, Dean was feeling frustrated.

Well, he was frustrated, too. The three of them had talked over the mysterious "Morgan Le Fay"'s message and decided the best thing to do was to respond. So Sam had created an account, left a private message, and waited. Now it was a day later, he was out of time, and Morgan hadn't responded.

"Hey," he said, loudly enough to be heard. Even so, Dean started, then turned and dropped his hammer.

"Hey."

Sam waved a new beer bottle at him. "It's late. Thought you might want one."

Dean ran his forearm over his forehead, wiping off the sweat, then moved forward to grab the offered beer. He leaned against the newly sheet rocked wall beside the door next to Sam, popped off the cap, and took a long drink.

"Ahhhh. Thanks." He stared at the bare framing in the wall across from them, idly swinging the beer bottle by the neck. "So. Any word?"

"Nope."

Dean pursed his lips. "So now what?"

"So Cas takes the dream smothering off for a few nights. He says he'll watch over me to be sure nothing happens."

Dean slid a glance at him. "Is that gonna be okay? Man, I've had Cas 'watch over me'. It's...um...unnerving."

Sam snorted. "Hey. Given that otherwise I'm likely to go nuts, I'll take a little unnerving. I've been yawning my head off all day. Cas cornered me around lunch, spouted off a list of symptoms, asked me if I'd felt them."

He fell silent. Dean waited. Finally, he said, "And...?"

Sam snorted again, took a drink of his own beer. "Every one of them."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So tonight I get to dream again. Woohoo."

Dean pulled himself away from the wall, saluted Sam with his bottle, and headed out the door past him. "Just don't go burning down any more of the cabin, dude."

"Yeah. Right," Sam muttered beneath his breath. He was worried. What form would his dreams take tonight? He didn't want to admit it to Dean or Cas, but he was afraid of what he might do in his sleep. He stared sightlessly at the barren, half-finished room for a while, then took a last drink, turned around, and walked down the hallway to the living room. Dean and Cas were there waiting, Dean eating a burrito.

"Ready to get dreaming again?" Dean asked. Sam took a deep breath, then nodded. Cas peered at him a moment, seeming dubious.

To reassure him - and himself - Sam squared his shoulder and said aloud, "Yeah. I'm ready. Let's do this, Cas."

Cas folded his lips, then nodded and took a step forward. He briefly laid his fingers on Sam's forehead, then said, "Done."

It didn't feel any different. But then, when he had put the stop to the dreams, Sam hadn't felt anything then, either.

Dean finished the last of his burrito, brushed his hands off, and said, "Okay, then. You go to sleep, and Cas'll warn us if you're about to go nuclear."

Sam gave him an irritated look. "Gee, thanks for that turn of phrase."

"What? We all know what I mean. I'm off. Sweet dreams, Sammy!" He headed down the hallway to his own room.

Sam looked at the sofa, which he had been sleeping on this past week, and sighed. It was just a bit too short, and uncomfortable, and by this time, he had worked himself up into such a state that it was likely it would take him forever to get to sleep. But it was late, he was tired, and it was best just to get this over with. He sat down on the sofa, then frowned at Cas.

"If you're gonna be our early warning system, do me a favor and sit over there - " He nodded to the rocker in the corner. "So I don't feel like a ticking time bomb with you hanging over me."

Cas's lips twitched. "Of course." He moved to the rocker, got out his book, and sat down. Sam frowned at him again.

"Dude. If you're going to read, you'll need the light on - " Cas just gave him a look. "Oh. Right." He reached up, turned out the light, and settled himself on the pillow, pulling the blankets over himself.

 _This is like stage fright..._

* * *

He dreamed. He knew he dreamed. He also knew they were ordinary, normal dreams, so the small part of him that was on alert relaxed as the night went on.

 _He's cuddled up next to warm, soft, feminine flesh. He moves, wraps his arms around her, pulls her closer. The scent tickles at his nose, the long hair tickles his cheeks, and he moves against her, runs a hand down the silky fabric that covers her hip, slides it around to her front, starts tracing soft, gentle circles from her stomach to her hip and back again. She sighs, moans softly, turns to him. His hand travels up her side, makes a stop to tweak a nipple, then gathers in her hair. He leans down, finding her lips with his eyes still closed, kisses her, long and slow and deep. He opens his eyes and smiles down at her. The early morning light highlights her luxurious red hair, the slender, elegant nose. She sighs again, opens her eyes, smiles back up at him. Then her eyes widen. She sits up, her eyebrows twitch together in a sudden frown, and the sheet slithers down; she's silhouetted against the sun._

"And just _what_ d'you think you're doin' here in my bed, Samuel Winchester, after darin' to go lookin' for training from other witches?!" Her voice was sharp and tinged with anger. Sam blinked up at her, then his own eyes widened, and he darted a look around at his surroundings.

He was awake. He was in a real bed, not on the sofa. And this was _not_ the cabin.


	6. It's My Life (Bon Jovi)

Sam stared at Rowena with wide eyes, then slowly sat up. His brain seemed to have short-circuited. First, he was still aroused, remembering how her skin had felt under his hands, how her lips had tasted, in his...dream? Second, how the _hell_ had he gotten here?

"Well, giant?" she snapped. "I'm still waitin' on an answer!"

He pushed his hair back out of his face, frowned at her, then finally found his voice. "Perhaps I should be asking that question." She flipped her eyebrows up, favoring him with a haughty look. The effect was spoiled by the fact that her hair was still messy from sleep and...other things? He seized her wrist, gritted out, "The last I knew, I was sleeping on a sofa in a cabin in New York. How did I get here?" He shook her wrist. "Answer me, dammit!"

"Och, as if I have the tiniest idea! There I was, having the most enjoyable dream, and then I wake to find you, here, in my bed!" Her voice rose. "Now, take yourself off!" She flapped her hands at him. "Out! It's not enough that you go spurning my trainin', after I had you gettin' the power more under control - "

His voice rose, too. "You mean, after you manipulated me into killing your son - "

"Och, manipulated you, is it now?" She tossed her head. "Like it took anything from _me_ to make you want to kill him!"

He fumed silently at that. She had a point there; even though they both knew that she prodded him on, he had been more than willing to do it. He ground his teeth, irritated that he couldn't counter her claim.

She shook a finger at him. "Not to mention gettin' you clean from drinkin' his blood, _and_ watchin' over you during the while - "

"Dean would have done it if he needed to - " he growled.

"Hah! That fine brother of yours! He would have panicked at th'sight of y'bangin' from wall to wall, and - "

That one, he had to laugh at. "Dean? Panic?! _Right_."

Rowena clenched her fists and seethed. " _Oooh_! Y'bloody bampot! Take your huge self and get out of here, right now! Lookin' for trainin' from bloody incompetents like Ethan - _Ethan_ , by all that's holy! - and Melanie, that prissy, rigid stick in the mud, who hasn't the vaguest idea of what to do with _real_ power - !"

He was suddenly very amused by the source of her anger. He smiled slowly at her, leaned back on an elbow on the bed, and snorted softly. Purely to provoke her, he said, "What about Morgan? What is it, Morgan Le Fey? She sounded like she might know her stuff..." As he expected, this rendered her unable to speak. Her clenched fists twisted even tighter, so the skin stretched tight and turned bone white. She drew in a breath, tried to say something, and settled for grinding her teeth and huffing. After a moment, she closed her eyes, let her breath out in a long sigh. Her shoulders relaxed. She opened her eyes again, and pointed at him once more.

"Morgan Le Fey _might_ actually be able to teach you a few things. _But_ \- !" She shook the finger at him. "But she wouldn't be able to train you the way I would. And you would need to be careful to never, _ever_ trust her."

He raised a cynical eyebrow. "Oh, like I trust, say, you?"

Rowena clicked her mouth shut, gave him an irritated look, then said, "I, at least, would try to teach you all I know." They both ran out of steam at the same moment and sat on the bed looking at each other for a while. Then Rowena said, more calmly, "So tell me, Samuel. Why _are_ you lookin' for more training? I had thought you were done with it."

He looked down at the snowy white comforter, tracing a thoughtful finger on it. Then he glanced back up at her from under his eyebrows. "I was. But it wasn't done with me."

She waited.

He sighed. "I seem to be using it in my sleep, in my dreams."

"Ahhhhh," she breathed. "Well, now. That is a problem those with the power in-born have. Not the demon-gifted, nor the powerless but well-trained. Since they must concentrate to use it, it doesna bother them in sleep. So. What was it? Wind? Or fire?"

"Fire," he responded shortly. "Almost burned myself and the cabin up."

"Och, aye, that can happen." She sat back on her knees and frowned at him thoughtfully. "I can teach you to stop that, fairly quickly. You must have known. So why, pray tell, are you botherin' with other witches?"

He bit his lip, concentrated on the comforter again. "Dean." He flicked a glance at her. "He'd never agree to me having you train me again."

She blinked at him, and waited. When he said nothing more, she snorted. "What?! And whose life is it? Why are you listenin' to him on this subject?"

He bit his lip, then sighed. "Look. Dean and I - well, we've had our problems. We don't always agree on things." She made a movement, and he held up a hand, frowning at her. "But if we don't work together - well. We both end up making bad decisions. It's like we - we - balance each other out." He flipped his hand back and forth, illustrating. He added, "And when I say 'bad decisions', I mean, decisions like, oh, letting Lucifer out in trade for removing the Mark of Cain, bad."

Rowena stared into space with a tiny smile. "Lucifer. Mmmm." It was more of an appreciative murmur than a thoughtful one. He frowned even deeper. He could tell where her thoughts were going. Sometimes, she was amazingly foolish.

"Lucifer is out for one thing only," he warned. "Himself. He will kill everything. Don't go getting any wild ideas." She seemed to come to with a start, and smiled at him coyly.

"Ach, well. A girl can dream, can't she?"

"Remember: I've been inside him. And was stuck with him in The Cage for..." His voice trailed off, and he stared blindly at her, remembering. "...a long, long time," he finished faintly. He paused, then said, "I know him. Like no-one else, except the other archangels, maybe."

Rowena pouted. "A wet blanket y'are, for sure, Samuel. But, to the subject at hand: y'shouldna be lettin' Dean dictate your decisions on this matter. It is _your_ life, _your_ power. And the relationship between master and apprentice...it must be...comfortable?" She frowned in doubt at the word. "Not quite the right concept. But, giant, as you found with Ethan and Melanie, if the...mesh...is not right with the master, then no learnin' takes place."

He folded his lips, gave her a quick nod. He understood what she was saying, a bit. There had been no flow of ideas with the other two.

"But that's actually not the subject at hand. The original subject," he said, "was how did I end up here? You say you didn't do it - ?"

She snorted. "Well, giant, now that we've talked, I suspect that you did it, in your dreams. You wanted training. I have trained you. Your brother said no. So your power did it for you."

He gaped at her. "You're saying I - I - what? Teleported myself here? That's insane!"

She tossed her head. "And Samuel the expert appears again!" she snapped. "What?! You can summon the wind, play with fire, and you're balkin' at a wee bit of transport? Psshhhh. You have the power, your subconscious had the will. It _is_ somewhat taxing, and definitely unusual," she added, pursing her lips. "But, 'tis the only explanation. Unless you're thinkin' someone else did it...?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

He flopped back down on his back on the bed, placed his hands behind his head, and chewed it over for a while. Finally, he grunted, "Hunh."

She slid gracefully down onto her side facing him and smiled. "In the meantime. 'Twas a very nice dream we were having, was it not?" She reached out and traced a finger along his hairline, then down his face to his lips. "I must admit I was enjoying it quite a bit before we both...woke up."

He drew in a sharp breath, remembering the feelof her body beside him. He turned to face her, hands pulling her close. "Enjoying it," he murmured, as one hand slid through her hair, the other slid down her side to her hip, his lips parted near hers, their breath mingling. "Oh, yes."

* * *

"Dean."

A hand was on his shoulder, shaking him. His mind took a moment to process it; being at a relatively secure home base made him slower than usual.

"Dean! Wake up."

Cas. He sat bolt upright, blinking at the angel. Cas, waking him up, voice urgent. His mind raced, then settled on a conclusion that was definitely Not Good.

"Sam. What's wrong with Sam? What's happened?" Another fire? He couldn't smell smoke, things burning, so it wasn't that. Lightning? No, that would have woken him up. No sounds of wind, so that was out, too. All this flashed through his mind in seconds.

Cas sat down on the bed with a thump. "He...he's disappeared."

Dean shook his head once, sharply, trying to digest that bald statement. He reached out to turn on his bedside lamp.

"Run that by me again?"

"Vanished. Disappeared. I suspect, teleported."

He blinked again, staring at Cas, and ran his hand through his hair. _Teleported?! Sam? Jesus H. Christ, this psychic power bullshit is getting worse and worse!_

"Weren't you supposed to be...I dunno...being 'dream cop' for the night? What the hell, Cas! You were monitoring him - how the hell did you let this happen?!" His voice rose, tinged with anger and disappointment. Cas frowned at him.

"I was. His dreams were perfectly normal. Nothing power related at all. Then..." He paused, and Dean could swear a faint blush crept up his cheeks.

"'Then'...?" he prompted.

"He was in the midst of a dream about sex," Cas said shortly. "And then he vanished." Ah. That explained the blush. Must be kind of weird, eavesdropping on a dream like that. Dean snorted, and Cas folded his lips for a moment in exasperation. "This is serious, Dean. And, of course, since Sam has the angel warding, I have no idea where he is now."

Dean swung his legs off the bed, grabbed his clothes, angled a look at him. "Well, shit. This is just dandy. Sam's off again, God knows where, and his power is acting up. And we're stuck here like a couple of idiots with thumbs up our asses. Son of a bitch." He pulled his t-shirt off, tossed it on the chair, and pulled on his henley and a flannel overshirt, chewing on his lips and thinking.

Cas leaned his forearms on his knees, hands dangling between them, and tilted up a wry eyebrow. "That does seem to summarize our status at the moment, I agree," he murmured.

"Well." With that, Dean stood up, pulled on his jeans. "I guess I'll go pound on some walls for a while." He strode out of the room. Cas stared after him, jaw dropped, then went after him.

"That's it? You're going to hammer nails?"

Dean stopped abruptly, swung around. "There's fuck-all else to do, man," he snarled. Cas opened his mouth, thought a moment, then closed it with a frown. Dean nodded. "See? At least I can get something _done_." He took a few steps down the hall, then stopped and turned around again. "Cas. It's just - dammit, Cas, I feel so goddamned helpless. We don't know where he is, we don't know if he's in trouble or not - ". He stopped, worked his jaw for a moment. _Sam's a big boy. He can take care of himself for a while...Right?..._

Cas looked at him, seeming to understand. He waved a hand at Sam's room. "Go ahead. I'll make you something to eat."

Dean winced, but plastered a smile on his face and nodded. He wasn't going to tell Cas just how bad of a cook he was.

* * *

Dani popped into existence in her hallway with a small poof of displaced air, and simply stood there for a moment, breathing it in. Her nest. Her nice, bright, airy nest. Not one spot of dark wood paneling or burgundy or Persian carpets. No-one hovering. No Davis peering at her, somehow transforming his bland, average face into a harbinger of doom, and pushing chicken soup on her. No worried Crowley darting looks when he thought she couldn't see. Her books, her bright prints on the walls, her papier mâché knick knacks, her computers, her pile of back issues _Journal de Pratiques Occultes_ , her French doors letting in the watery late January sunlight.

She heaved a contented sigh and moved into the living room, her face breaking into a smile.

 _~~better?~~_

She nodded wordlessly.

 _~~you don't think you overdid it by flitting here?~~_

 _Omigod, give it a rest! I'm fine. Better and better every day. Stop fussing, dammit! And there I was, back to my life, just so relieved to be away from people fussing..._

 _~~sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry.~~_

She folded her lips and headed to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of scotch and the dirty glass beside it from the island as she passed. That maudlin shit was over and done, thank the Dark Lord. She dug a bottle of ginger ale out of the fridge, opened it, and took a long, satisfying, spicy drink, letting out her breath afterwards in a contented "Ahhhhh..." Then she started going through the pile of mail, pulling out her phone, dividing her attention between the envelopes and the voicemails.

Invitation to present at the annual JPO meeting...calls from clients...text from Charlie...she paused at the last, sank onto one of the stools at the island, and read it.

 _Hey, Dani-R u ok? I've tried calling, u haven't been there. Beginning to worry. C._

It was from days ago. There was a second, and a third, more and more terse. The last just said, _CALL DAMMIT._

She snorted. _Yeah, okay, Charlie._ She was just about to hit the callback button when another text caught her eyes, this one from Josie.

 _Hey, Dani, have you heard about Jimmy going berserk? And Xing Li? Things are getting kinda weird. Both dead, BTW, gone to Fresno._

She bit her lip and stared blindly at the phone. First Basil, now Jimmy and Xing Li...all...well, not "friends", but cohorts, fallen to demonhood around the same time as her.

 _~~so, what? demons don't go off their rockers?~~_

 _No. Okay, very rarely. I mean, by human standards, demons are all already insane. Um. Never mind that. Anyway, if something hits the meatsuit-_

 _~~vessel.~~_

 _Vessel. If something hits the vessel, you just smoke out. Or, if you like it, want to keep using it, have the power, you heal it. Most just smoke._

 _~~so this is something very strange.~~_

 _Very._

She tapped at her teeth for a few seconds, then sent a text to Crowley.

Then, putting it out of her mind, she headed to her bedroom, found some fuzzy socks, slipped them on, and with a shout of glee, went running down the hall and slid across the hardwood into the living room, ending with a dive into her sofa. She grabbed the latest issue of JPO, clicked on her playlist of Halestorm, Evanescence, and other female rockers, leaned back on the pile of pillows, and started reading.

She was deep in a back-and-forth correspondence about the use of experimentation in distilling woods witches' spells down to their bare components, making notes in the margins, when Crowley appeared at the foot of the sofa, face thunderous.

"Just what do you think you're doing here, pet? When I said to push yourself a little bit, I meant a little bit, not flitting hither and yon like an idiot. Davis is beside himself, which makes him useless."

She grinned. The sight of him took her breath away, the first time in weeks she'd felt anything even remotely like that. It was yet another sign of her continued healing. "Look, I'm not doing that much, y'know."

He folded his arms and lips and glowered at her, tapping a foot.

"Oh, c'mon. Relax. I'm better! Much!"

He spun around and snapped at her stereo, shutting it off. "That is _not_ music," he hissed.

"I like it," she grumbled.

He turned back and pointed a finger at her. "If you push yourself too hard - "

She dropped her magazine on the floor, sat up on her knees, shrugged. "If I do too much, well, then, I'll just have to cope with the effects, won't I? Did you get my text?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject. He narrowed his eyes, began to say something, then just nodded. She patted a spot on the sofa next to her. "So what do you think?"

He ignored the invitation, staring blindly at her and rubbing his beard. "What I think is that something very strange is going on. We can add another data point: Chitundu snapped, ripped the head off another demon, and - more to the point - came after me." A quick chill swept through her, an echo of those frozen days after Sam Winchester had twisted the angel blade in his guts. His eyes focused on her and he snorted, waving a dismissive hand. "Not to worry, Dani-girl." She glared at him.

"Don't make me go doing that horrible spell again."

He grinned. "I will avoid it at all costs. However. We are left with the question of...what in the _bloody Hell_ is going on?!"

Dani frowned, sank back on her heels, thinking. "Chitundu? He ran with Li a lot." Crowley grunted at that snippet of information, and finally sat down beside her, slipping an arm around her waist, pulling her close, and resting his chin on her head. "Disease? A disease that hits demons? Contagious?"

He flipped up an eyebrow. "Possibly, definitely, and possibly."

"Hunh," she breathed against his neck. Then she pulled her head back, looked up at him. "New assignment?" The thought of a new puzzle to investigate invigorated her, and ideas started percolating through her head about how to get answers, where to start.

He nodded slowly, lips thin, eyes hooded. "Yes. An urgent assignment, pet. After all the chaos of the past year...well. We don't need more. Time for you to put your researching chops to work again." He paused, put a finger beneath her chin, tilted her head up a bit. "But no overdoing it."

She pushed the finger away. "Stop. Just stop. Research isn't going to wear me out - "

He snorted. "Twenty-hour research stints? Eating garbage? I know how you get sucked into it..."

She glared at him again, then reached out, grasped his elegant tie, and jerked him forward. "I. Am. Fine," she bit out. His eyebrows twitched down and he started to say something, but she stopped him with a hand over his lips. "I. Am. _Fine_!" she repeated. "In fact..." Holding him like this, being mere inches away, let her breathe in his scent, and it intoxicated her.

She swung over so she straddled his legs, her eyes locked on his, and used the tie to yank him even closer. She let the fingers of the hand on his lips wander, tracing them slowly, then slid the hand through his hair to the back of his head, pulling it toward herself. She leaned in to his face and murmured, yet again, "I. Am. Fine." She punctuated it with a kiss between each word, lips at first soft and gentle, then harder and more demanding, ending with a growl and an angry nip of his lower lip. His sudden soft gasp drew a tiny smile from her.

 _~~oooh. sexy fun times? i'm all for it. been a while...~~_

She ignored Innie-Me's comment, clenched her hand in his hair, pulled his head back against the back of the sofa. She shivered at the way his eyelids drooped, his eyes gleamed, the way his lips parted, how he dragged the tip of his tongue sensually across his lips and smiled at her. His hands slid across her hips, leaving a line of tingling fire singing along her nerves in their wake. The hands bit in, hard, and pulled her even closer.

"My. You _are_ feeling better, little baby demon," he smirked softly.

 _~~i'll say!~~_

"Shut up," she growled at the both of them. She let slip a tiny piece of power to push Crowley's hands away, pin them to the sofa. She knew he was merely allowing it, but it sent a spike of desire through her. Both hands free now, she let the second join the first tangled in his hair, holding his head captive. She slid her torso up along his, enjoying the shudder that rippled through him beneath her, and ended with her lips inches from his.

"It's been a long few weeks, you bastard," she whispered, her breath puffing across his lips. She shifted her hips, grinding against him. He moaned in response, struggling against the tendrils of power holding his hands captive. She kissed him hard, forcing his lips open with her tongue.

"So I'm going to make you pay..." She jerked his head back, trailed her tongue around his lips. "And pay..." She forced his head to the side, huffed a breath into his ear, then lapped daintily at it, ending with a bite to the earlobe. He gasped, tried to turn his head to her, but she held it still. "And pay..." She bit his neck hard enough to draw some drops of blood from his meat-suit. Then she released his head, replacing the hard grip of her hands with power to hold him still. Her hands, freed, wandered down his body, one sliding delicately down his groin and across his erection, the other fumbling at his belt.

She was purring by now, and the world faded away as she focused everything on him.


	7. Spreading The Disease (Queensryche)

Charlie's initial phone call to the NYC Department of Health and Mental Hygiene about the strange rabies-like outbursts morphed into an invitation to a briefing being hosted by the department. The CDC's NCECID division was highly interested. Health officials from cities and towns along the Eastern seaboard were going to be there, too.

She seemed to have stumbled into something very serious.

Her eyes wandered across the gathering as she entered the large conference room. An array of folding chairs faced a long table at the front of the room. Low murmuring filled the room, coming from men and women in lab coats, a smattering of professorial types, and people in business suits, like her. She slipped into a chair and peered around, listening intently to the snippets that she could make out.

"...Three suspected cases in Boston..."

"...Guy snapped in Norfolk, rammed his car through a crowd..."

"...an R0 of, oh, six? Not sure..."

"...analyzed samples, and it's not identifiable..."

A man in a faded t-shirt and jeans slipped into the chair next to her, slouching down with his hands in his pockets. "Damn. Hope the press doesn't get wind yet. At least for a few days," he muttered to her.

"Uh - yeah! That would be disastrous!" she said. He just nodded, face crumpled in worried, tired lines, ran a hand through his mid-length curly brown hair.

A small woman with short, chestnut brown hair sat down in the chair in front of her. She drew in a sharp breath, then leaned forward and clamped her hand down on the woman's shoulder, fingers pinching in angrily. "Dani. Girl, where have you _been_?!" Her voice rose. Dani slewed around in the chair, eyes wide in surprise.

"Charlie! What are you doing here?"

"Never mind that. Where have you been?! I've tried calling, texting - "

"Busy. I've been busy. And sick. Later. I think the meeting's about to start." She turned back to look toward the main table. Charlie leaned back, seething.

"Ahem. If everyone could take a seat, settle down, let's get started." The speaker was a middle-aged woman in a suit, with iron gray hair, glasses, and an air of exhaustion. People shuffled, quieted, and sat down. She waited for silence, then went on, "Thank you. Now. I'm Dr. Lydia Shaken, head of the DHOMH' Public Health Laboratory. To my left is Dr. Randall Laffer from the CDC, to my right is Dave Phelps, Homeland Security. As you all know, we're here to discuss response to the rapid appearance of LUO, _lyssavirus_ of unknown origin - "

A hand shot up in the front row. Before she could even acknowledge him, a man bounced up and said loudly, "LUO?! This isn't rabies, damn it, the virus doesn't even have any similarity!" She folded her lips for a moment, closed her eyes, shook her head

"Not rabies, no. But the symptoms seem similar to end-stage - "

"How do we combat it when we don't have any idea - "

She pinched her nose, began to speak, but hands popped up around the room and a babble of voices rose.

* * *

When the meeting - shouting match, more like - ended, and people started leaving, Charlie grabbed Dani's elbow and steered her out of the room with her. Dani looked tired and irritated, but she let Charlie drag her along.

"Talk to me. I called and called, and texted and texted, and you didn't answer, didn't say a peep - I was worried, dammit! I know you need time to...to...recover from his death, but, girl, I'm your _friend_ , and that's what friends are for, and - and - Sick? And what are you doing here, anyway?!"

Dani looked back and forth at the flood of people waiting for elevators, splitting off into arguing groups, then started toward the stairwell. "Too many people. Here." She opened the door and went in. Charlie followed perforce, sputtering. The door fell shut behind them, cutting off the tide of conversation. Dani started rapidly down the stairs, Charlie behind her.

"Okay. Sorry I didn't answer, I was sick, really sick, for a while there. Why I was at that meeting? Probably the same reason you were: answers." She stopped on the next landing, turned to Charlie. "That disease? Whatever it is? It affects demons, too." Her voice was worried, distracted. She started back down. Charlie stood gaping at her for a moment, then plunged down after her.

"Demons? Demons get sick?"

"Not normally, no," Dani snapped. She stopped again, shoved Charlie against the wall, shook a finger at her. "Look. This is serious, deadly serious."

"I get that! I can tell! Those health geeks - they're practically panicking! I didn't understand everything, but - but - whatever it is, it's spreading fast, and - and - it sounds like there's a lot more cases than have gotten into the news - " Charlie was suddenly very, very worried.

"Yeah. So. Demons don't get sick, but meatsuits - vessels - do, sometimes. But this is...way more than that." She leaned against the wall next to Charlie, shoulders slumping. "It's gotta be supernatural origin." She sighed, ran a hand through her hair, leaving it spiking up straight in various directions.

Charlie slid a look at her. "Yeah. Dean - " Dani hissed, her eyes flashing black for a second. "Dean said it's like Croatoan, except it doesn't have the, uh, the physical signs, like bleeding eyes, stuff like that."

Dani stared into space, picking at her lips. "Croatoan."

Charlie nodded.

"Croatoan. Hunh. Affecting humans _and_ demons." She was quiet a moment, then huffed out a tiny, mirthless snort. "Sound like anyone you know...?" Charlie frowned. Dani raised a prompting eyebrow at her.

"But...but...we kicked him out of Sam. Right? Doesn't he need a, uh, a vessel to be able to do anything?"

Dani slapped her hands on the wall behind her, pushed off, and started down the stairs again. "Yup."

"But...he's not in Sam, so...?"

Dani rolled her eyes, then flashed black again. "Your oh-so-special Sam Winchester isn't the only game in town," she sneered. Charlie stopped dead on the stairs above her. Dani went down a few more steps, then turned to look at her.

"You've...changed," Charlie said sadly.

Dani blinked up at her. Then she sighed, and let her eyes lapse back into human blue. "Chaz...look. I don't think it's outrageous to hate the man who killed my lover in front of me. It's certainly not geared to making me want to cheer him on, y'know?" Charlie bit her lips, dropped her gaze down to the stairs in front of her, and nodded wordlessly, her shoulder-length curls bobbing around her face. "Back to the subject at hand. Croatoan - or a variation of it - means one thing: Lucifer." Charlie nodded again. "Last we knew, he was un-vesseled, so he couldn't do anything. Topside, at least. But either someone, somewhere, kept researching, or else he found himself a vessel. Simple logic." She reached the bottom of the stairs, waited until Charlie joined her, then dragged her into her arms and hugged her. "Really. I'm sorry I didn't get in touch. You deserve more."

Charlie laughed weakly, hugging her back. "'S'okay. I know Crowley...his death...it hurt you. Big time."

"Yeah, well. In the meantime, I pulled off a huge spell, and it zapped me something fierce. I'm better now. Let's go get a mocha." She opened the exit door and plunged through, pulling Charlie after her.

* * *

Rowena had pulled all the drapes, turned off all the lights, and had Sam sit across the sitting area table from her. "Now, then. I'm thinking wind is not calming, so we'll just be usin' a candle for this," she said. She placed a thick pillar candle on the table between them and lit it with a flick of her fingers. "Y'are all nice and relaxed now, eh?" she murmured with a smirk. Sam gave her a look from under his eyebrows, and she snorted. "Always so serious, giant. Hands, please," she commanded, holding hers out, palm up, on the table on either side of the candle.

He reached for them, his huge hands engulfing her elegant fingers. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Psshhhh. Of course." She sniffed, with a haughty toss of her red hair. "So. Look into the flame. Dinna try to pick it up or play with it, it's solely for a focus now."

He looked at the flame.

Her voice sank into a soft murmur. "Make it the center of everything. Let all other things fade away. Just the flame, pullin' at your mind, and my voice. There is no more, just fire and voice."

The hotel room around him dimmed. All he could see was the candle flame. He was vaguely aware of the sound of the city outside the hotel, but tried to ignore it. Rowena's voice became even softer, and he had to focus entirely on it to hear her words.

"Breathe. In." She waited a beat. "Out. Watch the flame. See how it curls and twists. Breathe."

His breath followed her voice, became shallower and shallower, slower and slower. His body was relaxing, more than it ever had, muscles softening.

"Now. Can y'hear me, giant?"

His head moved in a tiny nod, barely even the hint of a motion.

"Good. You're dreaming now, lad. Asleep in bed. You want to play with the flame."

Oh, yes, he did. It tantalized him. He wanted to pull its warmth into his hands, spill it from one to the other, watch it dance, untethered, through the air.

"You want to play with it, but you are not in control. Tell yourself that."

"...not in control..."

"So. Take your power now, put it somewhere safe."

His eyebrows twitched together. How - ?

"Y're standing up, going to the safe. Tell me about the safe."

The image of a safe came to him. "All cast iron, cold, hard, square," he heard himself saying.

"Good lad. Open the safe."

The safe door swung open.

"Take your power, bundle it up, put it in the safe."

He envisioned his hands reaching to his head, pulling. Bright blue-white came streaming out, pooling in his hands. He molded it into a glowing ball, dropped it on the shelf inside the safe, gave it a fleeting caress.

"Close the door to the safe."

He did so, and spun the lock for good measure.

"And now, boyo, dream freely..."

He played happily with the flame, mind wandering. He was walking in the woods outside the cabin, sparks whirling through the air, dancing around him. He was in the bunker, sending sheets of flame up the walls. He was in a city, juggling huge balls of flame as a busker, surrounded by people gasping and clapping...

An unknown time later, a voice said. "Time to get your power out again."

He nodded.

"Go to the safe, open it, get your power out."

The safe appeared before him, floating in the air. He reached out, dialed the combination (Dean's birthday), bent the lever down, pulled open the door. There was the brilliant, whirling ball of his power, undisturbed.

"Release it..."

He reached in, pulled it out, tossed it into the air. It streamed toward his head, blanketed him, soaked in through the skin. He drew a satisfied breath at the feeling, realizing that feeling had been missing all during his dreams.

"And now. Samuel, you are in a hotel room, in the dark, sitting across a table from me. Let the sounds, sights, begin to come back to you..."

As the voice spoke, he saw a candle, with a flame. He became aware of the feel of hands clasped in his. The scent of her. The faint city sounds. He lifted his head; it seemed incredibly heavy. He took a deep breath, then another, then was fully back in the moment, seated across from Rowena in a fancy hotel room. He blinked at her, drew another deep breath, then released her hands, sat back in the chair.

"Hypnosis."

"Och, aye, yes, hypnosis. If y'must put a label on it." She rolled her eyes, and pulled her hands back off the table, into her lap. "But very specifically _guided_ hypnosis. We'll be needin' to do this many more times, first guided by me, then self-guided. When you can do it by yourself, easily, any time y'want, then your wee problem with dreams of the power will be done with."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Dean suggested something like this."

She barked out an incredulous laugh. "Really! The hero?! Will wonders never cease," she snarked. "Well. I may not like the man, but I never said he was stupid." She stood up, went from one window to the next, pulling back the drapes. "Are y'hungry? Should I be orderin' room service for us?"

He realized he was ravenous, and nodded. "So. Where, exactly, are we?"

She turned around, long navy blue swirling around her legs. "Why, New York City, of course! I do adore a big city. It's where you'll find the best hotels, giant!" She smirked at him. He folded his lips disapprovingly, knowing she was stealing the use of the luxurious room, the room service, everything. She laughed gaily at him. "Psshhhh. Relax. It hurts no-one. So upright! So... _moral_." She sneered the last word, drawing it out.

She swayed over to the phone, ordered up lunch for two, arching her eyebrows and smirking at him again. Which reminded him...He dug in his pocket, pulled out his phone.

"I need to tell Dean where I am."

She sauntered up to him, laid a hand on his chest. "Och. I suppose so. But y'need to stay here, with me, while we get your dream problem fixed."

He looked down at her, frowning darkly, and pulled her hand away. She gave him a small, tight smile, her head tilted back to look up at him. Her elegant nose flared, her eyes glittered. "Remember. _My_ apprentice, giant. No-one else's."

"What happened to 'it's your power, it's your life'?" He decided, right then and there, to get a recording of their next session and have Dean or Cas listen to it. He wouldn't put it past her to try to slip some type of control geas in with the hypnosis.

Her eyes drilled into him. Then, with a disconcerting shift, she flipped her hair, grinned, and said, "Ach, well, that's what you're to say to your brother!" She winked

* * *

"Dean. Your phone." Dean jerked and the hammer he had been holding went flying, leaving a dent in the drywall.

"Dammit, Cas!" he grumbled, taking the phone from Cas's outstretched hand. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Apologies."

A glance at the phone showed it was Sam calling. All other considerations vanished from his head as he thumbed the "answer" button.

"Sam! Where the hell are you?!" He waved a hand to alert Cas, and put the phone on speaker.

" - York City. Apparently..." He paused. The pause went on a long while. Dean frowned at Cas. "Apparently, I teleported myself to Rowena to get help - " Dean's eyes widened, and he ground his teeth.

"Son of a bitch. Rowena?! Don't trust that skank any further than you can throw her! C'mon back, we'll find someone who can help you, just not - "

"Dean. Just stop." Sam's voice was weary. "She's already helped - "

"I swear that evil bitch has you hypnotized - " He stopped, because Sam was laughing, a genuinely amused laugh.

"Well, actually, she has, just not in the way you mean. You were right; guided hypnosis is the way to go."

Dean sputtered. "Hypnosis?! What - You're actually _letting_ her mess around in your melon like that?! Are you _nuts_?!"

"Dean! Stop. She knows what she's doing - "

"Oh, yeah, I'll _bet_ she knows _exactly_ what she's doing. You get your ass right back here, dude, we'll - "

Sam's voice was hard. "My power. My life. Cut it out. We tried some Grand Coven witches, and they were useless. I knew Rowena was the way to go, but I listened to your concerns, followed your plan. Tried it. And it. Didn't. Work."

"Sam - !"

"It didn't work. So now I'm trying it my way, and it's working." Dean could hear him drawing a deep breath, and he started to say something again, but Sam cut him off with a short, "I'll keep you posted."

Then the call ended. Dean stared down at the phone on his hand in disbelief.

"He hung up on me!" He looked up at Cas, who was leaning against the wall, arms folded, head down, a slight frown on his face. "Son of a bitch! He _hung up on me!_ "

"I might have, myself," Cas muttered. He lifted his head to look Dean in the eyes. "You seem to have transferred your irrational response to Sam's powers to Rowena. Perhaps..." He paused, closed his eyes, drew a deep breath to brace himself, and re-opened them. He locked onto Dean's eyes again. "Perhaps we should give Sam's approach a chance to work."

" _Trust_ her?!" Dean's voice rose. Cas gave him a testy look.

"I said nothing about 'trusting' Rowena. She is, however, a natural witch, so knows the methods of controlling dream power. In addition, she is..." He paused. "...familiar with Sam and his power. I suggest we let them work it out."

Dean just glared at him. Cas finally shrugged, pulled away from the wall, and left the room.


	8. Moving Out (Billy Joel)

She sat in a bright, sunny Starbucks, sipping at a chai latte, squinting against the sunlight, brushing her shoulder-length blond hair back. The hairless apes stood in line, waiting for their turn, or sat chatting at the little tables, walked in and out. She watched them with a little smirk, enjoying their scurrying.

She picked up the newspaper again, read the head of the story beneath the fold again: "New Rabies Variant Hitting New York?" The subhead of the story made her lopsided smile grow. "City officials deny holding a secret health meeting in defiance of Open Meeting laws." So typical. A health emergency brewing, and all the mudmen concentrated on was silly bureaucratic slip-ups. If _she_ were in charge...her smile widened, hardened. Maybe, before she cleansed the earth entirely, she would give them all a taste of what they truly deserved.

She stood up, folded the newspaper and tucked it under her arm, picked up her latte, and strolled out the door, whistling tunelessly.

* * *

Dani watched as Charlie crouched over her tablet, staring at the numbers. "I just don't believe it - it's not possible." She tucked her hair nervously back behind her ears, peered across the table at her.

"So. Tell me."

She sat up straight, then leaned back in the chair, nibbling at her lips. "Dani. If we take the first case from a week ago, and go by what I heard one of the health geeks saying, a reproductive rate of five or six - I went with the smaller number, just because - but even so - " She frowned, eyes filled with worry.

"Spit it out, girl," Dani said, lifting her cup of mocha to her lips and taking a slow sip.

"Well - but - okay. There could be - I don't believe it - more than one hundred twenty thousand cases. Right now. Wandering around the city."

Dani's eyes fixed on her in shock. She slowly lowered her cup back to the table. "That many?! Surely not." Charlie just nodded, eyes wide. As one, they turned to look out the window of Mendocino at the throng of people passing by on the sidewalk outside.

Charlie hurried to add, "Of course, that's the theoretical reproductive rate - not the actual, you have to have proper reporting set up to get the actual - the actual is influenced by how many people have immunity from vaccines or an earlier case..." Her voice trailed off. Dani lifted a skeptical eyebrow at her.

"I'm thinking it's probably very close to the real rate. Look. It's a _new_ disease." Charlie nodded sadly. "No-one's gotten a vaccine, because it's new. No one has immunity, because it's new." They sat silently, staring at each other. Dani abruptly said, "Doctors. Do _you_ know doctors? We need doctors. And I think there may be two strains."

"Two - ?" Charlie asked, perturbed. "Isn't _one_ bad enough?!"

"Well, look. The first case in court was about a week ago. But we're kind of...um...a small, isolated population. So if it was the same strain, we'd already have been wiped out. Damn. We _need_ doctors!" She chewed on her lips for a moment, then pulled her phone out, dialed, waited for an answer.

"Crowley."

"It's me. My latest assignment? Bad. Very bad. Do we have - " The connection ended unexpectedly. She pulled the phone away from her ear and frowned at it, not noticing Charlie going rigid and pale, staring past her. "Dammit!" Charlie's mouth opened, closed, opened again.

"Uh. Dani?" Dani glanced at her. She pointed. Dani was about to slew around to take a look when warm hands fell on her shoulders, holding her in place.

"Hello, pet." The thumbs traced soft circles on her shoulders. "Miss Bradbury." She relaxed, a small smile flitting across her face.

Charlie frowned fiercely at them. "Y'know, I should be used to this sort of thing by now," she announced with irritation. "Dean and Sam - well, hell. People don't stay dead around them. It's not - it's not _natural_ , damn it!"

Crowley pulled a chair over from another table, settled it next to Dani's, sat down, and smirked at her. "They do seem to subvert the natural order, don't they?" he murmured with a hint of amusement. "But I assure you, it was all the work of my highly competent head research honcho here." He smiled fondly at Dani, who just gave him a look.

"You could, just occasionally, let people finish what they're saying before you flit," she snapped. His smile widened and his eyes gleamed.

"Now where is the fun in that, Dani-girl?" His smile faded. "Tell me what about your assignment has got you all hot and bothered. I came because it sounded...urgent." Dani's eyes fell. She and Charlie didn't say a word. He waited, then finally said, "Well? Talk to me, ladies. Precious snippets of information. I am all ears."

Charlie focused on her tablet. Dani twirled her cup of mocha in its saucer.

"I am not used to having to wait, kittens." His voice held a warning.

Dani drew in a deep breath. "It's bad. We need doctors. How many former docs do we have in court?"

He directed a flat look at her. "Dani. My patience is wearing thin."

"Possibly a hundred-twenty thousand cases in the city. Today. Some...how many tomorrow?" She paused, glanced at Charlie.

"Six hundred thousand," she said glumly, still staring down at her tablet. Dani flinched, even as she heard Crowley draw in a quick breath.

"My. Impressive," he said. "May I suggest, Miss Bradbury, that you leave the city _tout de suite_? I assume that we are working with a different strain of the disease?" This was directed at Dani, who was impressed with how quickly he had reached the same conclusion as she had. She nodded.

"Either that or demons have some type of natural protection."

"So." He stared at her without seeing her, thinking out loud. "Disperse the court. Collect some minions who were formerly doctors. Find a few infected individuals to study." He nodded sharply, rapped his knuckles on the table, and stood up. "Very well. Dani-girl, collect your things, meet me at your place in, oh, an hour. Be prepared to flit at an instant's notice. And, Miss Bradbury - " Charlie looked up at him. "I am very serious about you leaving the city _now_. No delays. The Winchesters will skin me alive if I allow anything to happen to you." He walked away, face grim, turned a corner and disappeared.

"But - but - " Charlie stuttered. Dani glared at her and stood up herself.

"You heard him. Go."

"But - " she said again. She gestured out the window. "The people - we have to warn them - it's gonna be - "

"Awful. Terrible. A bloodbath. Yes. Some few already realize it. But...Charlie, if you dash out on the street saying, 'The end is coming!', just what do you think New Yorkers will do?" Charlie folded her lips mulishly and didn't say a word. "The New Yorkers _I_ know? They'd just roll their eyes and mutter to each other that you're yet another crazy person." She paused. "Charlie. Call Doli." Doli was Charlie's Reaper friend who had helped her find the Book Of The Saved. "Have her spirit you off someplace safe. Now." Finally, Charlie looked down and nodded. "Good. And text me when you get someplace safe. We'll figure it out." With which, Dani spun around, headed around the same corner Crowley had taken, and flitted back to her nest.

* * *

Charlie opened the door to her cheap rental, walked in, closed it, and then sagged against it. "This just sucks dead toads," she said mournfully to the empty room. She leaned against the door for a few moments, then pulled herself upright. "Hey, Doli?" She grabbed her duffle and wandered through the room, collecting her bobbleheads, her tablets, stuffing them in. She looked around puzzled. "Doli?"

She had gotten used to Doli appearing whenever she called. It was an odd friendship, she had to admit; Hunters and others with a knowledge of the supernatural regarded Reapers with dread. The only time you saw a Reaper was when you were dying, a big ding against them. Very, very rarely, people saw them when traveling on the astral plane, or when Reapers had a reason to reveal themselves. But her adventure in Purgatory, the search for the Book Of The Saved, had introduced Doli, the guardian of the book, to her. And somehow, out of that search, they had formed a bond. Charlie had introduced the grave Reaper to RPGs and video and board games; in return, Doli had taken to showing up when she had had a harrowing day at work, just to talk.

Come to think of it, Doli hadn't shown up for...

...about a week.

Oh, dear.

She braced herself, grabbed her summoning bowl and herbs, and started chalking a summoning circle on the floor.

"Hello, Charlie. You do not need to summon me. I am here. I apologize for taking so long."

Charlie whirled around. A short, sturdy, Native American woman with short, jagged cobese black hair stood by the table.

"Doli!" Charlie noticed the look of weariness, dark circles under her eyes. "Is it...bad?"

"You know?" Charlie nodded at her. "Yes. It is bad. The death rate in the city has spiked. We have had to bring in help. It is...distressing. So. Why did you call me?"

Charlie nibbled her lips, looking at her friend. "Well. I was going to - but if you're busy - someone said I should get out of the city - "

Doli nodded sharply. "Yes. That is a good idea. I cannot take you. I should not be here. There is too much work." She closed her dark brown eyes, heaved a deep sigh, then opened them again to look at Charlie. "I am sorry. I would take you if I could. Can you find a way to leave?"

The Reaper's admission shocked Charlie. "Too much work" - for a supernatural creature? Bad news piled onto bad news, topped with bad news. She set her shoulders. "No, no, that's fine - I can figure out a way, take the train, rent a car, something - don't worry."

Doli nodded again. "Very well. Do not delay. The rate of death is rising. We do not know why - "

"Disease. It's a disease. Like Croatoan." Doli's eyes widened in alarm. "We think - Dani and I think - Lucifer has found a new vessel, and this is his...um...work." Doli's shoulders slumped; she suddenly looked even more weary.

"This is not good news. I will inform the others. I must go. I have taken too long. Leave as soon as you can." With that, she vanished. Charlie stood looking at where she had been for a few stunned minutes, then returned to packing her things.

* * *

"Davis! _Davis_!" Crowley stood in the hallway, drumming his fingers impatiently against his pants leg. "Dammit to hell, man, where are you?!"

"Coming, sir!" And there he was, coming from the kitchen area, flour smudging his face, and wearing an apron with "I ❤️ New York" sprawled across it. Crowley eyed the apron with a jaundiced look.

"I heart New York? Seriously?"

Davis started to reply, but Crowley cut him off, waved a impatient hand. "Never mind, never mind. Take that hideous thing off, clean your face, and collect a small bag of essentials for both you and me."

Davis blinked. "We are going somewhere, sir?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "No, we're going to play football with the bag. Of course we're going somewhere, you _moron_!" he snarled. "To wit, we are leaving here. New York City. Going somewhere else. After a quick stop at court." Davis's eyes widened. Crowley waited for a moment, then growled, "Don't just stand there, idiot! _Move_! Chop chop! No time to waste!" He clapped his hands in command.

After a stunned moment, Davis moved to the bedroom suite, unfastening the apron as he went. Crowley sauntered after. When Davis began pulling a Pullman-size suitcase down from the closet shelves, Crowley roared, "What part of 'a small bag' passes your comprehension?! Small! Dear God, I didn't think you were this dim! Do I have to do everything myself?!" He reached up to the shelf, grabbed a day bag, and shook it at his butler. " _Small_!"

Davis looked down at the bag, flicked a glance at Crowley, took in his grim look, and nodded. "Very good, sir." He started collecting things to put in the bag. "May I ask what is going on? Why we are leaving so abruptly?"

"Yes, you may!" Crowley snapped. "Croatoan. And it's affecting demons, too, this time." Davis froze for a moment, then started moving more quickly.

A few minutes later, the two demons flitted to the throne room of Hell's court. When they appeared, the normal hubbub of petitioners, prisoners, and functionaries took a moment to fade. Burt, seeing them, sprang to attention, thumped his staff on the floor, and called out, "Attention! Attention! His Majesty is in the room!" The chattering died down as the gathering focused on their king, watched him stride to the dais.

Crowley surveyed them all sourly. "Hello, cupcakes. I do hope you're all more prepared for this than you've been for other things..." His voice was acid. "Emergency Evacuation Plan A. Execute it now."

The roomful of demons gaped at him. No-one moved. He waited a beat, then mashed his hand into his face in sheer frustration.

"I am surrounded by _NITWITS_!" he bellowed. "Plan A! You blithering idiots! You _do_ remember Plan A?!"

A few nods answered him.

"I can see my hopes for a wee tad of intelligent behavior from you lot were mistaken," he snarled. "Evacuate. Bug out. Leave. Vamoose. Am-scray." Demons shuffled nervously, darting questioning looks at each other. Burt sidled closer to Crowley, who noted absently that the suit he was wearing fit much better this time.

"Uh. Sire. Where to?"

Crowley just stared at him. Then he dropped into the throne and face-palmed again. "Plan A. Everyone has a separate bolt hole. When the plan is activated, you. Go. To. Your. Bolt hole," he bit out. "Not to come out until the all-clear is given. My God. Must I explain _every single step,_ over and over again, to you _MORONS_?!"

It seemed to be finally sinking in; one by one, demons started disappearing. Crowley grabbed Burt's arm. "Not you, not yet. I need a list of demons who were doctors...hmmm...preferably epidemiologists...in their human lives." Burt gaped at him. " _Andale_ , man! Now!" Burt bowed his head, started backing away. "And capture me a berserk demon or two while you're at it!" Burt glanced up, eyes wide, then nodded, and plunged into the remaining crowd of demons, seizing one by the arm and dragging him off to the side by the throne room computer table, talking urgently. The selected demon listened, head tilted, then nodded and flipped open one of the laptops on the table, started working. Crowley could hear the chatter spreading, outside the throne room.

There were still far too many demons gathered in the room. Crowley bared his teeth at them, irritated, then just shook his head and scanned the crowd with narrowed eyes, memorizing faces. Anyone who didn't respond to the order...well, after the crisis was over, and things were back to normal, if they were still alive, he'd have them killed. Or sent to the deepest depths of Hell for a refresher course in torture. There were always more to take their places.

The noise outside the throne room was growing, so he could be reassured that maybe a few more were getting out.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne, watching Burt and his assistant. There was the brief sound of a printer, then Burt plucked papers off the tray and he and his assistant carried them over to Crowley.

"The list, Sire." Burt handed two pages to him. Crowley gave the list a quick once-over. Good, there were contact numbers. He rolled the pages, tapped them on his other hand, frowned absently at Burt and the other demon. He was about to say something when the sounds outside crescendoed, the double oak doors burst open, and a horde of growling demons stumbled in.

"What the bloody Hell - ?" Crowley stood up. Burt and his follower turned to stare, dumbfounded, at the intrusion. Some of the demons already in the throne room loozed, also, then more and more. The intruders surged forward, grabbing demons from the back of the room at random and mangling them. Crowley could see heads dipping down, teeth ripping, fists smashing down, blood spurting. The more alert demons milling around quickly drew various weapons, and started forward, only to be pushed back as yet more rabid demons pushed in from the hallway.

"Davis!" Crowley called, looking for his butler.

"Here, sir," Davis responded from behind and to his left.

"Right. You lot. Go. Now. Don't dawdle, idiots!" he commanded to those nearest him. He focused on Burt and his companion, standing stock still, staring in shock at the brawl. "Out!" Burt glanced at him with wide eyes, then nodded, grabbed the computer demon, and they vanished. He strode off the dais to Davis, keeping a watchful eye out. The berserkers were inexorable, forcing their way through their opponents. It seemed oddly as if they were more concerned with getting obstacles out of their way than, say, savaging them totally: bodies were being flung against the wall, smashed into other defending demons to mow them down, and the main mass of the intruders was moving forward to the front of the room. Crowley realized that the tide of crazed demons had shifted direction as he moved; the majority of them were actually...

He blinked. They weren't brainlessly bashing; they had a goal. And that goal seemed to be...him. He reached Davis. "Dani's place. Now." Davis, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the advancing snarling mob, nodded, and disappeared. Crowley took one last, long look through narrowed eyes at the melee, frowned while rubbing his beard thoughtfully, then finally flitted, himself.

* * *

 **A/N: Throw me a bone here, loves; I'm feeling like a lonely writer tossing stuff into a vacuum. Wah and boohoo. How do you like it so far?**


	9. Band On The Run (Paul McCartney & Wings)

**A/N: Please don't take my whine at the end of the last chapter as a ransom for reviews! I was feeling down, that's all. And the reason this chapter took so long was a HUGE writer's block.**

Dani found herself touching things as she went through the condo packing. She stood in front of her collection of ceramic Day of the Dead skulls, picking each one up, smoothing a finger over it, and soaking in the details. She slid a hand along the frame of the Katie Sevigny octopus painting. She looked over he Jalisco papier-mâché creatures, deciding which one to wrap carefully in a towel and bring with her.

When she realized she was looking out the French doors at the winter-barren garden that her upstairs neighbor, Miss Durfsman, lovingly tended each year, and feeling wistful that she wouldn't see the flowers this summer, it struck her.

 _This is not me._

She poked and prodded internally, and finally shouted, _INNIE-ME!_

 _~~what?~~_

The answer was subdued. Innie-Me radiated sadness, wistfulness.

 _Girl, are you_ _ **leaking**_ _at me?!_

 _~~sorry. i have - had - friends here in the city. they may end up dead. and i'm gonna miss our nest. do you think it'll still be here when everything's done?~~_

Dani dropped onto the ottoman by the sofa and sighed.

 _I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. Luck of the draw. So. Yeah. Okay. I get it; I'll miss it too. But it's just a place. If it's gone, we'll work on a new one._

 _~~it won't be the same...~~_

 _Pull yourself together. We don't have time for sentimentality._

Innie-Me pouted. Dani sighed a second time, shook her head, grabbed her small duffle, and continued packing.

 _Just stop leaking at me, okay?_

She had her tablet, her laptop, an array of memory sticks. She looked over her desk, checking one last time to be sure she had the most important things. She had toiletries, some clothes - all of the rest was easy to replace. She zipped the bag closed, dropped it on the cocktail table, and slumped onto the sofa.

 _Now we wait..._

Less than five minutes later, she heard the soft sound of displaced air behind her. She swiveled around, and saw not just Crowley, but Davis as well. Davis gave her a tiny smile and nod in greeting. Crowley was looking grim and distracted.

"Up and at 'em, Dani-girl. We were just attacked by a mob of frenzied - "

An unfamiliar demon popped into existence behind Crowley, snarling. Dani gasped; Crowley whirled around, snapped his fingers, and the demon exploded, spattering blood and guts everywhere around her vestibule.

 _~~uh - shit's getting real, dani!...again...~~_

Two more growling demons appeared. Davis slammed the packed bag into one, then stabbed her with the angel blade he fumbled out of his brown suit jacket. Dani heard the distinctive electric-short sputter of dying demon, saw the death light spider around her skull. Crowley flung the other demon into the wall, smashing Dani's vestibule side table and the vase on top of it. Papers fluttered to the floor.

"What the _bloody Hell_ \- ?" Crowley snarled. " _This_ is what we zapped away from the throne room to escape, Dani-girl."

A fourth demon appeared. The third had been struggling to recover from the stunning crash into the wall, and now stood up shakily to join number four. Crowley exploded one of them, and Davis, now dappled with blood, stepped forward, swiveled, and gutted the second. Crowley and Davis stood poised for a few seconds, waiting for another rabid demon to appear. Then, with an air of resignation, Davis fussily re-settled his suit, pulled out a handkerchief, and began dabbing at blood. Crowley stepped forward, holding a hand out to help Dani up from the sofa.

"As I was saying before we were interrupted - "

Yet another demon flicked into existence. Dani saw it first; prepared this time, she flung a hand out, slapping power bands on her, and held her struggling in place. The captive demon threw back her head and howled. Dani flipped her hand again, silencing her.

"Why are they coming _here_?" she asked, concentrating on holding her prisoner down. Crowley dropped her hand, strode over and crouched down to peer at the imprisoned demon with a deep frown.

"My lovely head research honcho...it appears that this strain of the disease has a side effect, one that...erm...encourages the infected to go after a specific target." He slid a sideways glance at Dani, flipped up an ironic eyebrow. "Me. I assume that the ones who can flit are tracking us somehow. The question is, how?"

She stared at him, stunned. "Tracking you - ?"

"Sir," Davis interjected quietly. He looked down at his now bloody handkerchief, tutted, and dropped it in the mess that had been Dani's vestibule table. "It would be wise to also assume that the ones who cannot flit may be making their way here on foot. Perhaps we should be going?"

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, scratched the back of his head, thinking. "We need to know how they are tracking us." He tilted his head, looked at the struggling demon, shrugged, and, without warning, drew his own angel blade and slammed it into her thigh. "Do tell, little one, how did you follow us?" Dani hurriedly lifted her silencing geas. The captive demon howled again, this time in pain.

"D'you think there's enough...person...left in there to talk?"

Crowley shrugged again. "We shall see, shan't we?" He twisted the angel blade. The captive screamed and thrashed, but this time, Dani thought there might be words buried in the garbled noise. She stepped forward, crouched down beside Crowley with a hand on his shoulder for balance, and surveyed the prisoner with narrowed eyes.

"Try again," she murmured.

"Anything for you, pet," Crowley smirked. He twisted the blade another time, and, again, the rabid demon screamed. Dani concentrated, listening intently. She leaned back as the cries died down. Dani slapped the geas back on.

 _Did you hear anything, Innie-Me?_

 _~~not sure. power?~~_

 _That's what I thought._

"Hunh. Innie-Me and I both think she said 'power'. Is that possible? Following a - a power trail? I mean, Jemma taught me to 'feel' demons, but that's different..."

Crowley leaned back, too, absently flipping the bloody angel blade over and over in his hands. He pursed his lips and stared down at their captive through heavy-lidded eyes. "Yes. It's possible. The traces fade quickly, though. This could be a problem, Dani-girl," he murmured. She shot him a puzzled glance. He snorted softly. "Kitten, just how do the majority of demons like us get about?"

She mulled it over for a moment. "Oh..."

"Yes. 'Oh', indeed. We flit. And when we flit, we use power. In fact..."

"...we use power all the time." The implications appalled her. "So how are we going to get out of the city?! Without leading foaming, snarling death machines wherever we go?!"

He squinted and pointed the blade at her. "Precisely."

Davis coughed discreetly. "If I may, sir. You do have a town car. We could...drive out of the city."

"Thank you for that priceless bit of information, Davis." Crowley's voice was acid. "There's a slight problem, though. It just so happens that the last I saw, my driver was being ripped to shreds in the throne room. I can drive - a carriage. But it's been a hundred years, at least. Dani?"

She shook her head slowly. Before she learned to flit, she took buses, cabs, trains, or hitched a lift from other demons who could. Even as a human, she had been a city girl, relying on public transportation. Oh, she had gotten a driver's license, long before her deal came due, but...

"Davis?"

The butler frowned glumly. "I am very sorry, sir. Like you, I can drive a carriage..."

All three were quiet.

 _~~i can drive.~~_

Dani blinked.

 _~~i mean, it's been three years, and i didn't do it a lot, but i can.~~_

Dani lifted her head, looked Crowley in the eyes. "Innie-Me says she can drive." Crowley grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, we flit to your town car - Davis, where is it, and where are the keys? - and drive like hell to shake them off. I don't think there's enough intelligence left in them to drive, do you?"

* * *

 _Six hundred thousand. Six_ _ **hundred**_ _thousand._ Charlie concentrated on threading through the city traffic, thoughts clicking away. _It won't really happen that fast, surely._ She merged onto the Garden State Parkway, and the stop-and-go traffic she had endured for an hour fell away. Everything seemed normal right now...but how much longer would that last? She tapped her phone, pulled up email, and started talking.

"New email. Addressee Dean W. Cc Sam W., Castiel. Start email text. Dean. Hey. It's Charlie. That disease? Dani thinks it's a new strain of Croatoan and Lucifer's behind it. Oh, and it affects demons, too. And it spreads fast. Health dudes here are scared but keeping it quiet so far. Crowley said - oh, yeah, Crowley's alive again, Dani did it somehow - doesn't anyone stay dead around you guys?! Anyway, he said we should all get out of the city. So I'm on my way to the cabin. See you in a few hours. Bye." She paused, then said, "Send email."

She pressed on the gas pedal, accelerating down the highway.

* * *

Dean was painting walls. It could be boring, but right now was a meditative process: run the roller back and forth in the paint tray, reach up, roll the paint on the wall, repeat. Soothing. He had his collection of classic power ballads playing softly in the background. He was almost done with the third wall, and his back was beginning to ache.

"Dean."

He dipped, rolled, reached again -

"Dean!"

He twitched, and paint spattered the drop cloth. He turned to face the doorway. Cas was standing there, frowning down at his phone. "Hey. Didn't hear you." Cas looked up.

"An email from Charlie. She says the disease is spreading quickly, that it affects demons, that Crowley's alive again - "

"Son of a bitch!" Dean snarled. "How did _that_ happen?!" He dropped the roller into the paint tray, placed his hands on his hips, and stretched backwards and swiveled a few times to relieve the kinks.

"Dani..."

"Oh." He remembered her frozen stillness as she knelt by Crowley's body, the way she had stared with unwavering black eyes at Sam, how Sam had flinched at her look. " _Told_ him she loved him." Cas's eyebrows twitched together for a second at the seeming non-sequitur.

"Anyway. Charlie is on her way here, now."

Dean's face broke out into a huge grin. "Well, hell! Time for a feast!" Then he paused, tilted his head. "Hunh. Wonder why she didn't just have Doli zap her here..." He shrugged. "I'm almost done, when I finish we should go into town, get some brats and beer, something like that. Maybe some balloons." He rubbed his chin, staring into the distance.

"Dean." Cas's gravelly voice held a note of worry. Dean looked back at him, silently inviting him to continue with what was on his mind. "Sam? In New York City?" Dean froze for a second, then turned back to his painting supplies.

"He's a big boy. He'll figure something out. He'll be okay." Cas just frowned at his back, waiting. Dean rolled paint on the wall, then stopped, roller dropping by his side, and added, "We'll figure something out. Okay?" He looked back at the angel, who waited a beat, gave him a short nod, and left. Dean dipped the roller in the tray, rolling it back and forth, then attacked the wall again. "He'll be okay," he muttered. Cas wasn't around to hear the way he seemed to be trying to reassure himself.

* * *

The keys were in the coat closet at Crowley's condo. The three demons, accompanied by the prisoner Dani was still keeping immobilized, flitted there, to be greeted by yet another growling, crazed demon popping into the air, aiming for Crowley. A quick snap of his fingers and their opponent vanished, messily. Davis grabbed the keys from their hook, nodded to Crowley, and they flitted to the garage where the town car was kept.

Of course, two rabid demons materialized nearby within seconds. "Just be glad they aren't coordinated..." Crowley muttered after he and Davis took care of them. "If we had had all seven of them to fight at once, rather than a few at a time, this would be a tad more difficult." Dani gave him a short nod as she keyed open the trunk. She dumped her pack in, Davis added his and Crowley's, they dumped their unconscious captive in, and they were quickly safe within the car, Dani at the wheel. She smiled at Crowley, in the passenger seat beside her.

"Ready for this?"

He gave her a dubious look.

 _~~what?! pb afraid of little ol' me driving?!~~_

 _Well. Maybe. A bit. I have to admit, I'm a little nervous, too. Are you sure about this?_

 _~~c'mon, let's get this over with. let me take over. you sit back and enjoy the scenery.~~_

Radiating nervousness at Innie-Me, Dani sank down, relinquishing control of the body.

Danielle said, "Right. Let's do this!" with enthusiasm, jammed the keys into the ignition, and gunned the gas. She grinned at the sound of the engine, and pressed down on the gas pedal again, enjoying the resulting powerful roar. "Seat belts, y'all!" she sang out. She threw the car into reverse, pulled out with a jerky J-turn, and sped forward down the lane in the garage toward the exit. Crowley hastily reached for the door strap and hung on.

"Are you sure you can drive?" he asked through clenched teeth. She slammed on the brakes and slid into the turn to the exit.

 _I am wondering that myself..._

"I _love_ driving!" She hit the brakes again at the sidewalk, then bulled the car into the street traffic, ignoring the horns honking at them. "So. We got any idea of where we're going?" she asked nonchalantly, flipping off the cabbie that tried to pull into their lane in front of them. She looked at Crowley, ignoring the street, eyebrows lifted. He closed his eyes, wincing.

"No," he said faintly.

"I believe the closest refuge, sir, would be the cabin the Winchesters are occupying in the Adirondacks..." came Davis's bland, unruffled voice from the back of the car. Danielle threw him a glance, took her hands off the wheel to give him a thumbs up, then abruptly yanked the car into the lane to their left, prompting more honks.

 _Girl! Watch out! Damn, you're scary!_

 _~~shhhhh...relax...~~_

"Okay, then. Off we go!" She craned her head to the left, found another inch of spare space in the lane next to them, and squeezed the car in. She grinned at Crowley. "Y'gotta be aggressive, driving in the city, PB," she confided.

"'PB'?" he asked, letting the rest of what she said unaddressed.

"Pig bastard!" she sang out in response, as she guided the car into a left turn as the turn arrow turned red. There was more honking. Crowley slid down a bit in his seat, covering his eyes with a hand. It was going to be a long drive.

 _You know how to get there?_

 _~~nah. the general area, yeah, I can get there, but when we get closer you'll have to guide me.~~_

 _I'll try. Just remember, when we went there the first time, I was hooded and couldn't see. And when we left, I was flitting a mile at a time. We may need to stop and get a road map when we get closer. You can have Davis navigate._

 _~~okay. now shut up and let me enjoy the drive!~~_

 _I never realized just what a madwoman you could be, Innie-Me. This is a side of you I've never seen before._

 _~~hah! a real new yorker, that's me!~~_


	10. Livin' On A Prayer (Bon Jovi)

Sam sat in the armchair by the window of the hotel room, eyes closed, breathing soft and regular. The watery February sunlight streamed in through the opened drapes, highlighting his long, mahogany hair with vivid glints of red. He didn't notice it, aside from the faint warmth on his face: his attention focused inwards, on practicing, over and over, locking up his power. He used various visualizations, ranging from a simple image of tidying up a kitchen, putting things away, including the power, to the original vignette Rowena had implanted of a heavy, solid safe.

He and Rowena had conducted many sessions of the guided hypnosis; by now, conscious control had become easy for him. It was the unconscious control that was still a problem.

Rowena had explained the process, tiny, elegant hands fluttering to emphasize points as she spoke: "What we're doin' here, Samuel, is tryin' to build in an automatic response. The problem, d'y'see, is that when y'start dreamin', y'need to - to - be _aware_ that ye're dreamin', and be able to distinguish when 'tis a dream of using the power versus, say, a wet dream." She gave him a tiny, amused smile, then jabbed a finger at him. " _That's_ when the conditioning kicks in."

He chewed on the idea, then said, "So...like lucid dreaming?"

"Aye! _Exactly_!" she exclaimed.

Now, here he was, able to cage his power up at a moment's notice. Consciously. It was the lucid dreaming portion that escaped him. He cracked his eyes, let them accustom to the light pouring over his face, then opened them all the way with a sigh. He stood up, scrubbing his hands up and down his face, then running them through his hair and pushing it back. This was going nowhere. Until he could make the link while dreaming...in the meantime, Rowena had warded the hotel room against fire and wind, so at least he could sleep and dream without worrying about burning the hotel down. He sighed again, shoulders slumping, then straightened back up with an effort. Maybe a shower would stop this endless gnawing at the problem that consumed him. He started to the bedroom, kicking the small table by the chair out of his way with a soft, frustrated snarl.

He paused at the bedroom door, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light; the drapes were closed. He glanced at the bed, a small smile crossing his face at the sight of Rowena sprawled across it. As if his standing there was a signal, her eyes slit open, then she yawned, sat up, and stretched like a cat, back arching and head tilting back. She looked at him with a coy smile, wagging her eyebrows.

"And there you are again, giant, always the early riser!" She shuddered. "I don't know how you do it."

He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, and gave her a sardonic smile. "Force of habit. When you're fighting the monsters of the world, you don't have the luxury of sleeping in and waking up slowly."

She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Now, see, why would one want to become a hero if it means having to wake up early all the time?" She slid back to prop herself against the mountain of pillows, crossed her arms, and eyed him narrowly. "And, so? Were y'able to be aware durin' the dreams last night?"

He frowned and shook his head, once, lips pressed together. His fist dug into his hip as he rubbed it without thought. She peered at him, an eyebrow tilted up.

"Ach. It will come. Give it time."

A muscle jumped by his jaw. "I've _given_ it time!" he muttered, glowering at her. She waved his protest away.

"A few days of practice. Pshhhh. What, are you thinkin' these things should come easy?!" She chuckled. "Witchery is hard work, Samuel. It's not like you have a magic wand, and suddenly, poof!, y'know it all! Disney made everyone have unreasonable expectations." She sniffed.

He gritted his teeth and jerked away from the doorframe. "I'm taking a shower." He knew he was being unreasonable, but it was damned frustrating.

* * *

He emerged from the bedroom, toweling his hair dry, to find Rowena perched on the chair he had abandoned, silhouetted against the sunlight. Yet another sumptuous breakfast was spread out on the table.

"And are things better now, giant?" She waved a lazy hand at the food. "Your porridge awaits. And fruit. Such a fussy one y'are." She bit into a croissant, tongue flicking out to capture the flaky crumbs and gave him a slow smile. Well. At least she had learned his tastes. He started to the table, giving his hair one last rub then dropping the towel to his shoulder. He paused as he was passing her. Her light scent captured him, and the sun gleaming on her alabaster shoulders made him itch to stroke the smooth skin.

He leaned on her chair, forearms resting on the back, fingertips brushing her shoulders. He watched her skin quiver with a lopsided smile, and leaned further in to brush her neck with a kiss. "The oatmeal can wait," he murmured. She leaned her head back, her long red curls sliding down between them. He didn't trust her, oh, no, and he wasn't sure if he even liked her, but she made his blood sing and his breath catch. He buried a hand in the luxurious hair, pulled her head back against him, and began exploring.

A scream erupted from the hotel hallway. Sam froze. Another scream.

His hunting instincts kicked in, and he was running to the door without a second thought, hand reaching behind his back for his knife. He yanked the door open and saw, down the hallway, a woman struggling to escape her attacker beside an open hotel room door. She kicked and clawed at her attacker - a small, balding, mousy looking man who growled and snarled as he slammed her against the wall beside the door again and again. Blood dripped from his mouth, and the woman's arm was bleeding.

Sam darted a look back at Rowena, standing by the table with an alarmed hand at her throat. "Call hotel security!" he yelled hoarsely, then ran down the hall, flipping his knife over so he could hit with the hilt. He cocked his fist back as he ran, and hit the man with both his own force and the energy of his run, sending his staggering. The woman slid down the wall, sobbing; he reached out a hand, jerked her upright, pushed her toward the door and snarled, "In! Get inside!" She gave him a dazed look, then nodded, and fell into the room. He grabbed the door and pulled it shut, turning to face the attacker, who had lurched upright again. The man broke into a stumbling run aimed directly at him.

In the background, he could hear Rowena talking on the phone, voice raised. This shouldn't be happening. Sam had hit the guy with everything he had; he should be out cold on the floor. But there he was, eyes glazed, bloody mouth twisted in a growl, picking up speed as he headed back toward him. The attack on the woman morphed into an attack on him, and suddenly Sam was using his long arms and full strength to keep the crazed attacker at arm's length. He hooked a leg behind one of the man's legs and flipped him to the floor, crashing down on him, using his body weight to try to pin him down.

He heard the ping of the elevator, and risked a quick glance up. Men in hazmat suits piled out of it and rushed down the hall to them.

 _Hazmat suits?!_

"Gimme a hand, here!" he shouted, still struggling to hold the guy down. The men - five of them - came to a stop, guns drawn. One took careful aim and shot the crazed man in the head. Then the guns swiveled to point at him.

Sam froze in shock. No hesitation: they had just _shot_ the guy! He eyed the five of them, panting to catch his breath, and very slowly, very carefully, raised his hands palm outward in front of him. Their intense focus on him sent a shiver down his back.

"Okay. It's okay. He's down." He paused, then said, hesitating, "I'm just gonna stand up here, now." He inched upward, hands still up, barely breathing as he straightened up.

"Blood!" one of the men shouted. "He's got blood on him!" The five guns, which had sunk down to point at the floor, came back up as one, aimed at his heart.

"Samuel!" Rowena's alarmed voice rang out. A couple of the men glanced behind him at her.

 _This is crazy._

He let one hand drift down to wipe the blood on his arm off. "Not mine," he said. "See?" He pushed back the sleeve to display an uninjured arm. "His." He started to back up, back toward Rowena's room. The guns sank again.

"Well. Okay, I guess. But...Sorry, buddy, you're under quarantine now." One of the men absently tried to brush his hair back, encountered the hazmat suit helmet, and dropped his hand back to his side.

"Quarantine - ?"

The man keyed his walkie-talkie with his bulky gloved hand. "Yo, Johnny! Another one. Body bag on 17, dude, and antiseptic spray. And set up the perimeter for the whole hotel." He returned his attention to Sam. His face, obscured by the helmet, looked lined and weary. "Yeah. I'm putting the hotel under lockdown. Hope you don't have anywhere to go anytime soon..."

Sam just stared at him.

"Man. Don't you read the news? This disease - whatever it is - it's goin' through the city like wildfire. So, sit tight, enjoy your time with your pretty lady there - " He jerked his head at Rowena, standing in the hotel room door. "Cuz you're stuck here for a while." He pointed with his foot at the dead body on the floor. "And pray you don't end up like this guy." He turned away, dismissing Sam from his mind. Sam watched him for a moment, then turned and walked back to Rowena.

He grabbed her elbow, pushed her into the room, closed the door, and sank back against it, face grim.

"We have a problem," he said.

* * *

When the traffic thinned out on the highway, Danielle pressed down on the gas pedal and whooped. The car sped up noticeably. Crowley flinched. David murmured from the back seat, "Miss Danielle. I do believe it would be prudent to not draw attention to ourselves by...um...speeding."

"Davis, I love ya, you know that," Danielle sang out. "But sometimes you're a real wet blanket!" She gunned the engine. The car sped up behind another in the right lane, and Danielle yanked the wheel left, propelling the car into the passing lane just long enough to pass, then yanked it back again.

 _Hey! Davis is right! Slow down, you crazy person, you!_

 _~~aw, c'mon. relax. i'm only going 95!~~_

Crowley flicked a glance at the speedometer, paled, and closed his eyes. His fingers dug into the buttery soft leather of the car seat. Danielle cast him a scornful look.

"Dude, for the King of Hell, you're a real coward."

"I got where I am by having a very healthy respect of dangerous situations," he grated out, eyes still closed. "This... _this_ is a dangerous situation. _Slow down_!" he bellowed.

Danielle didn't respond; her eyes were glued to the rear view mirror. She heaved a sigh, let her foot lift up from the accelerator, and, when the car had slowed down enough, pulled over to the side. The police car that had followed her with the lights blazing pulled in behind her.

"Oops."

Crowley opened his eyes, darted a look around, and groaned when he saw the cop car. "'Oops,' she says," he growled.

 _Okay, girl, I'm taking over for a few here. I don't think your driving style is going to win any prizes from that nice young policeman._

 _~~damn. sorry!~~_

 _We all told you you were going too fast. Now let me clean up your mess._

Dani watched as the policeman walked up by the side of the car, grinding her teeth. "Registration and insurance," she snapped at Crowley, waving a hand at the glove box. He gave her a quick look through narrowed eyes, nodded, and opened it, rummaging around. "I'm going to risk a quick use of power," she added. Crowley nodded again and handed her the documents, along with a hundred dollar bill. She shot him an irritated glance, and shoved the money back at him. " _Seriously_?!"

He shrugged. "It works sometimes, pet..."

"Gah." She rolled down the window.

The policeman stood silently beside the window for a while, arms folded. Dani blushed. He was really good at using body language, she thought. Finally, he pulled off his sunglasses and pointed at her with them. "Ma'am. Do you _know_ how fast you were going?!"

A chat, evidence of remorse and shame, and a tiny push with her power resulted in him letting them off with a warning. As he pulled the police car back onto the highway, Crowley's town car was filled with a heavy, disapproving silence.

"Seventy-five, Innie-Me," Dani gritted out. "No more. Or else I'll just take over and we'll putter along at fifty or so because I've never driven on a highway. Got me?" Crowley muttered agreement.

 _~~yeah, yeah, i gotcha. i said i was sorry!~~_

Dani sank down again. Danielle mumbled, "Sorry, guys," and pulled back onto the road.

* * *

Dean's head jerked up at the sound of gravel crunching in the cabin's driveway. He was up and out the door before Cas had lifted his head from his latest book, striding to Charlie's car. When she got out, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Hey," she mumbled against his chest.

"Hey, kiddo." He released her and held her away from him, scanning her face. "Everything all right?"

She gave him a half-smile, shrugging. "Well, I'm alive, and here, so I guess that goes down in the 'okay' column..." He pulled her in for another hug, then let her go, and turned to the back of the car.

"Where's your stuff? Is that it?" He gestured at the duffle bag on the back seat.

She stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets, shoulders hunched up. "Yeah. I just kinda grabbed what I thought I couldn't live without, y'know."

He grabbed the duffle and angled a look at her. She sounded...well, not her usual self. Her voice was sad and tired, and she had a slight frown. "How bad is it?"

She shrugged again. "I dunno, Dean! I mean, if the numbers are right - well, it sucks. And Doli couldn't spare the time to bring me here, and _that's_ kinda scary, she says the Reapers are working overtime - well, not 'overtime', she doesn't really know what that is, but they're working really hard, and have brought in extra Reapers, and she looked _so_ tired!" She looked over his shoulder and her face brightened. "Hey, Cas!"

"Charlie," he said, with an affectionate smile.

Dean slung her duffle over his shoulder and started back to the cabin door. "Okay, then, well, at least you're here, and safe, and we can start working on what to do." Charlie and Cas fell in behind him, Charlie's arm around the angel's waist and his around her shoulders.

"Dean, I just don't know _what_ we can do!" she said. "Dude, it's a _disease_! It's not a monster! Monsters you can _kill_! This - " She stopped and gestured wordlessly. He narrowed his eyes at her and nodded, once, then held the door open.

"We'll figure something out. We always do," he reassured her.

"Dani thinks it's Lucifer," she said, moving over to the couch and flopping down on it. "What if he - what if he starts the disease up in more places? What do we do then?" She leaned her elbows on her knees, put her head in her hands, and her shoulders slumped. Dean hated seeing her look so defeated. He sat down next to her, pulled her into another hug.

"Well. If it's Luci, then we have a monster to fight, right? And that's what we're experts at. First, we'll put out the word to look for more research labs starting up. Back where we were a few months ago, right?" She gave him a shaky laugh. "If he's actually doing things..." His voice trailed off and his lips folded into a thin line. "That means he's found another vessel." They all looked at one another. "So we find him and boot him out of that one."

"Or find a way to return him to the Cage," Cas said, expression grim.

Dean bared his teeth in a wolffish smile. "Or find a way to gank the dick, once and for all."

* * *

Danielle bent over the map spread out on the hood of the car, huddling into her jacket to keep the wind out. Anyone walking past would think she was talking to herself, but she was arguing with Dani.

"I think we went this way." She traced a road on the "Guide To The Adirondacks" map.

 _I don't think so. If that's the one, where did we turn off? Remember, the cabin's on an unpaved road. I don't see any unpaved turn-offs on that road, only paved ones. We got directly off a paved road onto the unpaved one, no turns, after we left the town._

Danielle chewed her lips, frowning. "Dammit!" she muttered. "It seemed so easy!"

"Might I make a suggestion, ladies?" Crowley leaned against the car, hands in his overcoat pockets, legs crossed at the ankles, smirking into the distance. Danielle glared at him.

"Sure, PB! You've never driven here _at all,_ you've always flitted, so I'm _sure_ your input will be useful!" Her voice dripped sarcasm.

He mimed an air kiss at her. "Love you too, Danielle. You'd be surprised at how useful I can be. My suggestion? Call Squirrel and ask him for directions."

Danielle opened her mouth to argue, stopped, and closed it with a click and another glare. He flicked an ironic eyebrow at her.

 _~~your fancy king of hell can be an utter asshole sometimes. especially when he's right.~~_

 _He does have that effect sometimes. He likes to rub your nose in it._

 _~~what kind of a guy is he, saying we should ask for directions?! asshole.~~_

She ground her teeth and dug out their phone.


	11. Refugee (Tom Petty)

Dean stood outside the cabin, arms folded and eyes narrowed, watching the long black town car edge its way down the icy dirt road, then maneuver into the gravel driveway behind Baby. His jaw muscles flexed, then he strode forward as three people emerged from the car.

"Okay. Tell me what the hell you're doing here, and give me one good reason to let you stay." His voice was hard and unwelcoming.

Crowley leaned spread arms against the top of the passenger side of the car and dropped his forehead against the frame. "Squirrel. If you have ever had a single, solitary compassionate thought about me, you will under _no_ circumstances make me get back in this vehicle with _that woman_ \- " He raised his head and glared at Dani. " - at the wheel. I am begging you." His voice was pitiful.

Dean stopped in his tracks, nonplussed. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. "Dani?"

Crowley's lips twisted. "Gods, no. Danielle."

Dani - Danielle?! - tossed her head. "Oh, quit your bitching, PB. I got us here, didn't I?"

Crowley's head thumped back down onto the car frame. "One police warning. A ticket in Adirondack for driving the wrong way down a one-way street. Scratches on my town car from bashing into a tree taking a turn too fast on a slick dirt road." Dean craned his head to peer down the side of the car facing him. Yep, there it was, a long, ugly looking dent with multiple lines of scratched paint. He blinked, raised a finger, tried to steer the conversation back.

"Fine. A bad drive - "

Danielle whirled on him, frowning. "It was a _fine_ drive!" Dean blinked again, opened his mouth. "I don't know why PB's got his panties in a wad! I had _fun_! And I was the only one who could drive. Beggars can't be - "

Crowley interrupted wearily, cheek resting against the car frame, eyes closed. "Dean. _Please_. Let us at least come in. We are, in essence, refugees. Let me have a drink. _Two_. We'll tell you the story. Just don't make me ride in a car driven by that madwoman ever again. Or at least for a few hours."

Stymied, Dean tossed his hands in the air in frustration. "Fine! Sure! Whatever!" he snarled. Dani - he could tell Dani had shifted into control, just by the way she held herself; it was eerie how distinct the two were - tossed the keys to Davis.

"We have a rabid demon in the trunk, along with our luggage," she informed him. Crowley lifted his head and peered at her.

"Are you back, Dani-girl? Save me from your crazy meatsuit!" he whimpered. "Don't let her out again!" She gave him an indulgent smile.

"Look. Innie-Me was the only one with recent driving experience. You survived. Don't pout; it's not becoming. Now. In we go!" She gestured to the cabin door and began walking. Crowley peeled himself away from the side of the car, and he and Dean followed her.

Dean gritted his teeth and resigned himself to having house guests for a few hours. He slid a glance at Crowley, who had recovered remarkably quickly once he was sure no more driving was involved. "So. Um. What happened to...?" He mimed snapping his fingers, lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

"Can't," Crowley responded. He didn't elaborate, just brushed dust off his suit jacket and sniffed. "Really, Squirrel, what is it with you and your cohorts and rusticity? Couldn't you hole up somewhere more civilized? Closer to the city?"

Dani pushed the door open, looking back with a grin. "Oh, just wait til you see the decor! 'Rustic' was exactly the word I used when they brought me here." She started into the cabin, then stopped with a wide smile. "Charlie! You made it!"

Charlie dashed forward, exclaiming, "Dani!", throwing her arms around her and drawing her further inside and out of the way of the others. "Girl! Why didn't you guys just - uh - flit?"

Davis, laden with three bags, stopped next to Dean, and asked blandly, "Mr. Winchester, sir? Where should I put these?"

Dean slumped against the wall and waved a weak hand down the hallway. "Back there. Empty room." Davis nodded and disappeared down the hall. Cas caught Dean's eyes from across the living room, and, seeming to sense his desperate need for someone - anyone! - to take control of this circus, moved forward.

"I believe we should adjourn to the dining table and share information," he said in his gravelly voice. Like magic, everyone began moving to the table. Dani and Charlie sat down and Crowley disappeared into the kitchen, no doubt in search of scotch. Dean pulled himself away from the wall and walked over to stand by Cas.

"Cas, buddy, I don't know how you did that, but thanks. It's a frigging miracle," he muttered.

Cas's deep blue eyes slid to him and his lips twitched into a tiny smile. "I _am_ an angel, after all," he murmured in response. He placed a gentle hand on Dean's back, guiding him toward the table. Dean sat, Crowley reappeared with a bottle of scotch and two glasses, and there was a sudden long silence. Crowley poured, pushed one glass to Dani, downed his own in one gulp, and thumped it back onto the table. Everyone jumped.

"Well, kittens. Here we are." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop with a frown. "To answer your question more fully, Squirrel: We did not flit because it appears that the motley rabid crew after me can track power usage. Flitting uses power. Ergo: no flitting." Dean started to speak, but an abrupt hand motion from Crowley stopped him. "It appears that our darling tantrum-throwing toddler archangel is back in business, and with a blast. New York City is soon to be a charnel house filled with Croats...amusing in theory, but bad for business. My stronghold - "

"Your remodeled abandoned warehouse," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.

Crowley glared at him and continued, "My _stronghold_...is overrun with crazed demons out for my blood. _We_ \- " He paused, gestured to include the five of them gathered at the table. " - We need to put a stop to this madness. In both the figurative and the literal sense."

Gloomy silence descended again. Dean laced his hands together behind his head, tilted his chair back, and rocked it thoughtfully. Charlie huddled over the table, dark red hair shadowing her face. Cas sat erect, a small frown clouding his face. Dani stared into the distance, tapping her lips with a finger.

Dean returned his chair to the floor with a solid thump. "Okay, then. Bad juju all around. So what do we do?"

"What we need is a cure, and, failing that, a vaccine," Dani said. They all looked at her. She shrugged. "Look. We do have a subject to experiment with. In the trunk. You - " She pointed at Crowley. " - have a list of demons who were formerly doctors. Right?" Crowley nodded. "Surely we can co-opt some research facility somewhere - "

Dean was struck by a wild idea, and stopped her. "Whoa. Hold on, hold on. We - Hunters were shutting down Croat researchers left and right just a few months ago. We could grab one of those places, use it as a base..."

Cas nodded. "One of the more remote ones would be best. We are too close to the city here; we've already had one encounter with an infected person, days ago...more will be showing up. And so far, it seems, we have been quite lucky in that none of you have contracted the disease." That particular ugly thought loomed in the air. Charlie shivered.

Davis, who had returned long since and faded into the background positioned behind Crowley, spoke up. "A facility like that would also have more room." He nodded genteelly at Dean. "While your cabin is excellent for a small amount of people, for a fairly short time, I believe adding any further people will strain it to its limits."

Dean regarded him sourly. "So, what? Are we some kind of B&B for demons, now?" He switched his focus to Crowley. "I'm not letting you anywhere near Sam. Not after..."

Crowley bared his teeth. "After he killed me? You two are beginning to make it a habit. Believe me, I would much rather be at my bolt-hole. But it is very far from here, so here we are - in essence - refugees." He leaned back, shot his cuffs, and added, as an aside, "So where is your moose, anyway?"

Dean slumped down. "New York," he muttered. Crowley's eyes flicked up to him, surprised. He shook his head and held up a warding hand. "With your mom. Don't ask." Dani's eyes flashed black, and a faint growl drifted from her. Dean's lips thinned, but he could understand. Sam _had_ killed her lover, after all, at Rowena's urging. Though here he was again, turning up like a bad penny. Did _no-one_ stay dead anymore?!

* * *

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Pssshhhh. They can _try_ to keep us locked down, but, seriously, Samuel. I could toss a wee hex bag to bend their eyes away - we could be dancing down the street with Mardi Gras masks on and they wouldn't even notice." He snorted in amusement at the image that conjured up, but his grim look returned. He walked to the sofa, sat down, and ran a hand down his face. She followed and curled up at the end of it. He looked at her with a thoughtful frown.

"Those men were scared, Rowena. They shot that man without a second thought. For God's sake, they were wearing _hazmat suits!_ " She shrugged.

"Och. The things that scare people these days! Now, the Plague - _that_ was frightening." She uncurled and slid her feet into his lap. "You, giant, are a worrier. I'm sure it's just another overreaction." He tilted his head to look at her through narrowed, thoughtful eyes. Then he shook his head.

"No. We've been cooped up here for days, haven't paid any attention to the outside world. Dean had a run-in like this last week in Hudson Falls." She arched her elegant eyebrows in surprise, but still waved it off. Sam removed her feet from his lap, stood up, and wandered to the table where his tablet was, grabbed it and returned. He slouched down against the arm of the sofa and pulled up WNBC on his browser.

Then he just stared at the page for a minute, jaw dropped.

He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and read out, "Mystery epidemic toll: 427 dead in 24 hours, more injured, attacked." He shot a look at Rowena, then went on. "Number expected to rise rapidly...Mayor di Blasio urges calm, assures that city health officials are, quote, working feverishly, unquote, to solve disease riddle. I'm just reading headlines of stories here, and remember, most of these were written last night." Rowena's eyebrows twitched together. She scooted down the sofa to lean gracefully on his shoulder, her eyes scanning the display. "Area hospital ERs overflowing from victims of vicious attacks...Is mystery death in Baltimore related?...President Obama tells country not to panic...Health officials held secret meeting days ago about the disease." He dropped the tablet into his lap, and gave her a hard grin. "Worried yet?"

She sat back on her heels, nibbling her lips. "Wellll..."

He snorted.

"I do have experience with hex bags to ward off disease..." she murmured, staring blankly at him.

"While the people with the disease were trying to gut you?" She folded her lips, shook her head, her red curls slithering and sliding with the movement. Sam surged up from the sofa and started pacing, running his hands through his hair. "We need to get out of here."

"Wouldn't this be the safest place to wait it out?" she asked. "Surely 'twill die down soon enough?"

He stopped, turned to stare at her in amazement. "Ro. This isn't _going_ to die down. This is Croatoan. _Croatoan_. Made specifically to spread rapidly. Unrelated to anything out there that people might have immunity to. This is Lucifer, doing his damnedest to wipe out the 'hairless apes'. _Damn_ him!" he snarled, fists clenching at his side. He _knew_ what Lucifer was like, what he wanted - he'd had a century to learn that evil son of a bitch's ins and outs. "We need to get out of here," he repeated, jaw clenching.

She gaped at him, then said, faintly, "Taxi...?" She waved a hand helplessly, realizing how silly it sounded, then explained, "'Tis what I've used, och, these many years."

He closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Then they snapped open, and he pointed a finger at her. "Car rental." He seized the tablet and sat down again, typing before he had even settled. She watched as he worked for minutes, now and then snarling under his breath, muttering to himself. "Nothing at Hertz...", a minute later "Gah. Budget's booked up, too," then, "Nope for Enterprise..." He kept on, his fingers pounding the tablet screen harder and harder. Finally, he flung it down on the sofa beside him. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. " _Shit_."

She picked it up, and fiddled with it for a moment. Then she looked down at it, lips twitching downward. "Samuel," she said softly. "The New York traffic site is showin' all roads out as solid red."

He groaned, then laughed bitterly, fingers dug into his hair. "Guess I'm not very original in my ideas."

She slid an arm across his shoulders, rubbing at the sudden knots. "Aye, well. Sounds like people are well and truly panicked." He rolled a shoulder under her ministering hand, then stretched his neck. She dug a knuckle in, and he winced at the sudden pain, pain close to pleasure, and drew in a hissing breath. She shifted, tapping his shoulder in a wordless command. He turned so his back was to her, and she began to work with both hands, expertly finding the knots. "So, boyo. What do we do?" she murmured, her hands continuing her work. "And do we truly need to do anything?"

He twisted his head to look at her. "Think, Ro. You have brains - use them." She slapped him lightly on the back. "The city is panicking. The hotel is under quarantine. Let's talk about basics. Food. Hotel'll have a day's worth of food. Maybe two. Then what? Oh, the officials may pass through essentials...if they remember."

"Um," she murmured. He snorted softly - she did like her food; the more expensive and intriguing, the better.

"Then there's the issue of more rabid people. Here. In the hotel. You don't think there's going to be just one, do you?"

"Um," she repeated. He could see her frowning from the corner of his eye. She leaned her sharp chin on his shoulder.

"The longer we wait, the worse it's gonna get." He left that hanging. The silence sang as they both rolled the problem over in their heads.

"Your wee angel friend. Castiel," she finally suggested. "Could he not transport us away?" Her hands left his back and flapped in the air, illustrating. He turned to her, grabbed her shoulders, his eyes lightening, a wide smile on his face.

"See? I told you you have brains!" He dug in his pants for his phone. "Can't believe I didn't think of that first," he muttered, angry at himself. He pulled up Cas's entry, punched the call button, brought the phone to his ear - then swore. "No phone service."

"Oi, what?!" Rowena's brows arched in surprise.

He glanced at her. "It's either overwhelmed or else they've - the officials - cut it off."

"Psshhhh!" She flounced up, sauntered to her purse, rummaged in it, and pulled her phone out. "We'll just be tryin' mine, then. Number, giant!" She snapped imperious fingers. He gave it to her, she dialed, and the same thing happened. She pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at it with pursed lips. "Well! And what use is all this marvelous _technology_ \- " She sneered the word. " - if it doesn't work when y'most need it?! Bah!" She threw the phone aside.

Sam sank back onto the sofa, legs splayed, head back, arm flung across his eyes. He was exhausted. Every time he and Dean turned around, it was another crisis. Another disaster. He thought fleetingly of Amelia, of his short-lived hope for a normal life, then pushed the thought aside. Could have beens...he needed to focus on the here and now. He cracked his eyes, peering out from under his arm at Rowena, who was now pacing back and forth before the sofa, muttering in Gaelic. With every step, her silky nightgown - which she had never had a chance to change out of - molded itself to her slender legs, swirling in a riot of gray paisleys on black. And with every step, her muttering grew louder, more like a snarl. He watched her through narrowed eyes, a sardonic twist to his lips, then closed his eyes again, thinking.

The sofa gave as Rowena dropped onto it again. She poked him. "Well, giant. And now what shall we do?"

He cracked his eyes open again, turned his head. "Eat, drink, and be merry?" he murmured, flipping an eyebrow at her.

She tossed her head. "Och, aye, and we should just be lyin' down and waitin' to die, is it? I don't think so! I've lived a very long time, and I don't plan on dying any time soon, and _certainly_ not at the hands of some _dairich_ sufferin' from some strange disease!" She looked every inch a haughty queen, emanating the iron will and stubbornness that had helped her survive three and a half centuries, made her conquer magic, that made her just what his subconscious had decided he needed to teach him...

He froze.

He thought.

 _He_ had transported himself here.

Maybe he could transport _them_ out?

Before he realized it, his hand had shot out, engulfing her tiny wrist. He leaned forward, all intense concentration, focusing on her, and said, "Can you...can you work the guided imagery on me so that I can take us both away? The way - the way I _came_ here?"

It was Rowena's turn to freeze. He could see the wheels turning in her mind as she stared into space. She finally focused back on him, drawing in a long, slow breath. "Now _that_ , Samuel, is a very interestin' idea." She sank back on her knees, tapping a finger on her lips, thinking. "I canna do it myself, y'understand. Never was able to. But if you've done it once..."

"I can do it again," he said quietly.

She nodded.


	12. Gimme Shelter (The Rolling Stones)

One afternoon, she realized she was bored. Waiting on a foregone conclusion, though it piqued her in many ways, was so slow. She watched the news and smiled; she read the newspapers and savored every detail, every tidbit. It had become a routine - go to the local Starbucks, get a latte and a chocolate croissant, read the paper, enjoy, at a distance, the despair, the fear building.

But she really wanted more. Something immediate. Something more satisfying at a gut level.

So she ravaged her prisoner's memory again, collecting information, and found what would fill her needs.

She dressed carefully, in a silky dress that clung to the curves of this current vessel. She borrowed knowledge of makeup, of human lures. She looked through the tourist books to determine the best place. Then she walked into a dance club, and hunted. It took a few dances, some calculated glances away, a quick touch of tongue to her lips, a flicker of eye contact, a grazing hand sliding down her partner's arm. That was all it took, which surprised part of her - her captive seemed to have all the cues ready to hand, though she hadn't used them in years. Leading her prey out the door of the nightclub, she tossed her shoulder-length blond hair and laughed, the prey's hand captured in hers. The target laughed back, breathlessly, with an excited, amazed look on his face.

The prey led her to a car, drove her to his place, darting glances at her and stroking his thumb across the back of her hand, and she smiled slowly at him, loving that he had no idea what was coming.

When she pulled her scarf from around her neck to tie the hands of her target, he lunged upward from the bed to kiss her, aroused and ready. She gave him a lingering, lopsided smile, ran her delicate, painted fingernails down his chest, leaned in to kiss him...

Then, with one quick motion, she snapped his neck.

She left with a spring in her step, a sparkle in her eyes. That little dessert was just what she had needed.

* * *

"So, Samuel...when we figure this transport thing out, where should we be goin', eh?" Rowena was quickly packing a small bag; Sam assumed with more difficult-to-construct hexes - he couldn't imagine she had much need of personal items. He stared out the hotel window into the darkness, arms crossed. The lights of the city sparkled, rivers of brake lights and headlights outlining the main thoroughfares. The beehive of the Chrysler Building glowed with graduated curves of warm yellow, the top floors of the Empire State Building segued from deep blue to vivid green, the angularity of the new One World Trade Center was echoed by the white spire jutting up into the sky. It was all so beautiful. And melancholy - those lights would be dimming quickly as the disease took hold more and more.

He hoped this escape attempt would work. _Escape from New York. Just like that old movie._ He snorted. At the same time, he knew Rowena wouldn't like his plan. He sighed and turned to face her.

"Dean. The cabin. Of course."

She paused, one hand holding yet another hex bag poised over her small suitcase, and folded her lips. Her delicate nostrils flared, then she closed her eyes. "Aye. Well. And why should that surprise me?" She re-opened her eyes, nodded, tossed her head. "Very well. I can tolerate the 'hero' in small doses, I suppose." She tossed the bag in.

He stood with his arms still folded, and gave her a cynical smile. "All for survival."

"Aye. Well." She sighed. "Survival. It's worked for me thus far, boyo." She tossed a final small hex into the suitcase and closed it, snapping it shut. She carried it over to the table where they had done all their work and settled it on the floor beside her chair, then sat down. She beckoned him over with an elegant finger. "Come, giant. Time to work." The pillar candle, half melted from previous sessions, stood ready. Rowena lit it with a quick gesture.

He rolled his shoulders; he knew the tension he was feeling needed to be banished, or this wouldn't work. Then he strode over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down opposite Rowena. She gave him a quick glance, and frowned slightly.

"Now, then, giant. You must be relaxin' for - "

"For this to work. I know."

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, folded her lips, and nodded. "Very well. Into your trance now," she commanded.

It was easy after all their practice, even with the tension singing through him. He stared into the candle flame, drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and sank down into the trance. The room faded away from his perception; all that was left was the flame and Rowena's murmuring voice guiding him deeper.

"Now, then, Samuel...let us go back a few days. Come with me. Remember. You were sleepin'. You were dreamin'."

"Yes," he murmured. It was barely audible.

"And what are you dreamin' of?"

His lips bent into a faint smile. "You." He shifted uncomfortably as his dream rose in his memory, her scent, the feel of her skin, the way he reacted absorbing his attention.

"Yes. You are dreamin' of me. Now move forward, just a wee bit. You are about to come to me. Do you remember?"

"Yes," he sighed softly.

"You are slowin' down your memories. Now, we move forward, a wee bit at a time. When you feel the transport startin', I want you to move your hands here on th'table to let me know. And you will stop there. Do you understand?"

He murmured a soft agreement again. He felt his head nodding just the tiniest amount, vague and far away.

"Good lad. Now. Forward...forward...forward..." His hand jerked. "Ah! Stop there. Now slow down even further, and tell me what is happenin'."

"I want to be where you are. I _need_ to be there." In his memory, he felt the power surging up in answer to his need, felt the way he twisted it, felt the change in the air around him. "I _twist_ the power. Pull at it. I...fold the world..."

"Go back to the start of the transport," she murmured.

She led him through it six or seven times, wringing out more description each time, telling him to fix the feeling, the process, in his memory. Then, finally, she called him out of his trance. He rose up from the depths slowly, his surroundings starting to seep into his perception once more, firming up as the seconds passed. His focus shifted, broadened, the candle flame receding until it was just a flame on a candle in the center of the table, lighting Rowena's face with flickering highlights. He drew a deep breath, sighed it out, and leaned back in his chair.

She watched him with a sharp expression. "There y'are. And do you have it?"

He nodded slowly. "I think so." It always took him a few minutes to be fully there after one of their sessions.

"Well. Time to give it a try, eh?" She waved a hand. "Bedroom?" She arched an eyebrow at him with a tiny smile. He peered at her with a frown, his tension already seeping back in, then nodded again. He focused, pulled on his power, the way it had felt in his memory, and... _twisted_.

He abruptly fell on his ass on the bedroom floor, the fall jolting a surprised grunt from him.

"Ahah!" Rowena crowed from the other room. She walked in, stood in the doorway, and gazed at him sprawled on the floor. Her lips twitched. "Aye, well - perhaps you should be standin' up the next time you try?" He snorted, sorted out his legs, and stood up.

"Good idea." He looked down at her, a smile growing on his face. "It worked!" he exclaimed, surprised and elated.

"Aye, giant, that it did." She looked up at him with an equally wide grin. "That it did. Now. Can you carry me with you, I wonder?"

Without a word, he slid an arm around her, pulled her close, reached and twisted with his power, and they were back in the living area beside the table. He looked out the window at the city skyline with a small smile. "The answer would be 'yes'."

A scuffle and some screams from the hallway interrupted them. Sam looked that way and frowned, stifling his need to run to the rescue. Rowena plucked at his arm, shrewd eyes taking in his automatic reaction. "Now, now, giant. We can do nothing, 'twould be just a drop in a bucket for the city now." He pressed his lips together, eyes haunted, then gave her a quick, stiff nod. The screams were joined by the sound of wood being smashed and glass breaking, and he shivered as he held himself back.

"Perhaps 'tis best if we were going now...?" she suggested softly.

* * *

They had sorted themselves into teams.

Dean and Cas hunched over a map of the U.S. They would discuss the requirements yet again, select a target from the list of research centers Hunters had raided, then Cas would vanish, scouting the location. When he returned, he and Dean huddled some more, rating the site, ranking its pros and cons.

Crowley was working the phone, calling the numbers on the list of demons who were formerly doctors. It quickly became apparent that he needed _recent_ doctors, young demons. A demon who had been a doctor in the 18th century would be of no use to them...bloodletting and leeches wouldn't work against this new disease. Davis stood behind him, crossing out names, listing the specialties of those who might be of some use. Dermatologists, pediatricians, allergists - there were a variety of names that got crossed out once he determined the demon's former specialty. He did, however, have Davis write down the specialty, muttering that when things got back to normal it was high time to get a full census of demons. And, yes, dammit, he _knew_ they needed immunologists and epidemiologists!

Dani and Charlie were seated side by side, trawling the web, figuring out what equipment and supplies would be needed. Centrifuges, Charlie noted. Alcohol swabs, syringes, media for growing samples, Dani countered. Beakers, vials, an autoclave. "No wonder NIH grants don't make lab directors rich," Charlie said. She was looking at prices. "All this stuff we need - and even if it's cheap, we need a lot, and it adds up! - a lab is _expensive_ to outfit!"

"Add in rush shipping charges," Dani muttered, eyes widening at the cost to deliver an autoclave on a rush basis. Charlie leaned over to peer at her screen, and her jaw dropped.

"Whoa."

Crowley had been listening with half his attention. He snorted. "Not to worry, children. I have all the money we might need."

Dani frowned at him. "I'm not worried. I'm appalled! These charges are outrageous - "

Without warning, they were interrupted by a poof of displaced air. Sam and Rowena stood together to the side of the living area, Sam's arm around her, her hand clutching a small suitcase.

A shocked silence fell as everyone stared at the two.

 _~~whoa. that's a surprise!~~_

 _Hush. Those two - here - !_

Dani's eyes flared cold, steady, furious black. She rose to her feet, teeth bared in a snarl, and was about to fling a hand toward Sam, when Crowley fastened his own hand around her wrist, hard. "Shhhh, shhhh, pet. Not now," he murmured. Shooting a glare at him, she struggled to free herself.

"Sam?" Dean croaked. Sam looked at him wide-eyed, swayed a moment, then fell to the floor as if someone had bludgeoned him in the head, arm slipping away from Rowena. The silence broke as Dean, Cas, and Charlie surged forward.

"Sam!" Dean fell to his knees beside his brother, patting his face. "Dammit, Sammy! Talk to me!"

"Sam?!" Cas crouched beside Dean, eyes worried.

"Sam! Omigod, Sam, are you okay?" Charlie hovered behind Dean and Cas, wringing her hands.

Rowena dropped her suitcase to the floor with a thump and knelt beside him in a puddle of skirt, frowning thoughtfully. Dean glared at her and snarled. "Dammit, might have _known_ you'd be mixed up in this - " She flicked an abstracted glance at him and waved a dismissive hand.

"Pshhhh. Always so ready to think the worst. It so happens that I have nothin' to do - " She paused, frowned deeper, and bit her lip. "Och, well, perhaps I do. He did not react this way when he transported by himself; 'tis possible that taking me as well overtaxed him. Hmmm." She sat back on her heels and looked directly at Dean. "As usual. He merely needs rest, this is a new use of his power."

Crowley, who had been watching with a neutral expression, coughed gently. "Ahem. Loath though I am to say it, my mother is probably correct." He smiled grimly at Rowena. "Hello, Mother. As you can see, Moose's attempt to kill me did not...er...stick."

Rowena's head had jerked up at the first sound of his voice, and now she knelt there glaring at him as if him being alive was a personal offense. Her nostrils flared, and she drew in an angry breath, then let it trickle out again slowly, regaining her composure. Dani watched her with her eyes still beetle black; Crowley still had her hand captured in his, which was the only thing keeping her from doing her damnedest to kill the witch. And Sam Winchester. Crowley slid a look at her and smirked, fingers pressed into her skin. He started stroking her wrist with his thumb in an attempt to distract her. She growled in response.

Rowena dismissed them and looked back across at Dean. "If there's a bed or couch handy, I suggest you cart the giant to it and let him sleep it off," she snapped. "And I am hopin' that we are not all going to be packed together like sardines in this...hovel...for very long."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. "Look, lady, if I had my way, half of the people in this room would disappear. But I'm not getting my way. We're stuck with each other until this whole disease scene is fixed, whether we like it or not." He held up a hand to stop the question he could see she was about to ask. "We're working on it!" She blinked at him and snapped her mouth shut. He ran his hand across the back of his head, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Cas. Can you hoodoo Sam off to one of the beds?"

Cas nodded, reached forward to touch Sam's forehead, and Sam disappeared. He looked at Rowena and said, with a small nod, "He is in the newly painted room at the back of the cabin." Rowena dipped her head in return.

"Always the gentleman," she murmured with a coy simper. She stood up, picked up her suitcase, and swept out of the room into the hallway, skirt swirling. Dean watched her go with a sour expression.

"All we needed for this menagerie," he muttered, turning back to look over the rest of the gathering. "Well? Let's get back to work. The sooner we can decide on one of these facilities and get it stocked with med supplies and a medico, the sooner we'll all be out of each others' hair."

Crowley stood up, Dani's hand still in his grip, and pulled her up beside him. "I do believe my head research honcho and I need to have a small talk before we proceed." Dean locked eyes with Dani, and nodded slowly.

"Yeah. You do that."

Dani growled again. Crowley tutted quietly and pulled her to the cabin door, pushing her gently out before him and closing the door.

As soon as they were out, Dani whirled on him, lifting her captured arm and shaking it. "This. What is this?!"

He pulled her close, sliding an arm around her waist. "Now, pet. We cannot afford to indulge all our petty little vendettas - "

" _Petty_?!" she seethed. "Sam Winchester. Rowena. They _killed_ you. Dead. Cold and stiff in that fucking warehouse. And if not for that spell I found, after weeks of research, you would _still_ be dead, and I - " She stopped. He looked down at her with a small smile, an eyebrow lifted, his arm tightening and pulling her closer.

"And you...?" he prompted.

She looked down, biting her lip, and didn't say a word. He tucked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head back up.

"Ohhhhh, you fucking bastard," she snarled. His lips twitched. "I was doing just _fine_ before I met you, you know that?!" He stiffened and let her wrist go.

 _~~yeah...before he hypnotized you...~~_

 _Shut up, Innie-Me!_

"You are always free to leave." His eyes were hooded, his expression neutral. It hit her like a punch in the gut, and she stepped backward. "Or not. If being...involved...with me has disrupted your life that much..." He let the words trail off.

 _~~oh, lord, you two are being idiots again. just tell him what you were thinking, why don't you?~~_

Dani blinked, realizing, to her mortification, that she was about to start crying. She started to say something, but couldn't, her throat constricted. Finally, drawing a deep breath, she tried again, deliberately not looking at him. "When you...died..." It was so damned hard to say. "I was frozen. I...I...it hurt so much," she whispered harshly. "To be...alone again. Without you. The world seemed...empty."

 _There. I did it. Happy now?_

 _~~well...at least you said it. didn't say it would make me happy.~~_

"And those two...I'm so afraid...they will try again..." She stopped, staring determinedly at the knot in his tie.

He was silent for a moment, then he pulled her close again and murmured, "Well. Mother will try, definitely. Moose, however...I suspect he has gotten it out of his system. In any case, we all have more important things to worry about, so I believe you can rest easy for a while." Again, he tilted her head up with a finger beneath her chin. "So. Can you promise me to not be ready to kill them on sight when we go back in? It would be very disruptive."

She snorted softly, then her lips twisted. "It's a weakness. I should be able to control it." She was angry at herself.

"Yes. In fact, if one of my other demons were to be so willing to disobey me..."

An amused smile at the thought tugged at the corner of her lips. She looked him in the eyes, and was suddenly breathless. He smiled lazily back down at her and traced her lips with a gentle finger. "I'll just have to come up with a suitable punishment for you. Let me give it some thought."


	13. Moving In Stereo (The Cars)

Sam surfaced from heavy sleep when Rowena slid under the covers beside him, just enough to shiver slightly at the feel of her satiny nightgown sliding softly against his skin. He pulled her against him, his arm resting over her waist, thumb sleepily stroking the skin on her stomach through the fabric. Then he sank back into the peace of slumber.

 _He is in the nighttime Kansas City of his mindscape, and the power reveals the overwhelming glory that underlies all cities. Buildings tower over him, etched with rivulets of golden electricity; under his feet the electric mains blaze, torrents of electrons racing beneath the sidewalks, the streets. He walks through the crowds, people with blue-white soul clouds roiling around their bodies, and knows there is danger ahead of him. The crowds part, streaming to either side of the men who appear facing him. These men's souls are caged in oily black clouds laced with a flickering webwork of red. Demons. Two men with gray overlays stand beside them. Vamps. He reaches with his power -_

 _Stop. Dream. This is a dream. You know what you have to do._

 _The crowds halt. The demons and vamps freeze in mid-step. The flickers and sparks of electricity stop moving. In this timelessness, he reaches inside himself, pulls his power out, coils it into a wild blue pulsing sphere resting on his hands. He steps to the safe hanging in the air in front of him (when did that appear?!), opens the safe, deposits the sphere inside and gives it a loving stroke before he shuts the safe, spins the lock. The safe fades into mist, blows away, and the crowds are moving again, the demons advancing on him. He reaches with his power, moves forward with his knife at the ready. This time, part of him knows the power is just a simulacrum, a shadow of the real thing, but it is enough for the dreamscape. He and the monsters begin a running battle through the streets of Kansas City, the people around them blissfully unseeing, continuing their everyday lives with no knowledge of the evil beside them._

 _When the battle ends, he stands above the last of the bodies, huffing, panting, victorious. He scans the crowd, sees no more monsters, and his body relaxes bit by bit. When he is fully calm, the safe appears hovering in the air before him. He spins the lock to the left, to the right, back to the left, pops the door open, and croons at the sphere inside. He reaches to pick it up, but there is no need - the sphere unwinds, a tendril reaches for his hand, and the power soaks back into him. He sighs, loving the feel - the dream power was a pale imitation, but necessary._

He tumbled into the velvet darkness of deep sleep.

What woke him was Rowena crawling back into the bed and snuggling up against him. His power hangover lingered in the form of a headache, but this distracted him from the pain. He cracked an eye, peering up at the ceiling. The darkness of night was fading, the uncurtained window a large, slightly lighter square against the shadowy wall. His arm curled around Rowena's slender body, and he woke even further when he realized that the satin nightgown was gone, replaced by the feel of silky skin beneath his fingers. She hummed as his hand stroked down her side to rest on her hip, and she flipped over, resting her forearm on his chest, chin on the forearm. The faint twilight illuminated the porcelain skin on her face, but it was still too dark for her red hair to be anything but a tumble of darkness framing it.

She muttered something, and he blinked. His morning mouth vanished and he now tasted fresh, clean. He tilted his head up to look down at her, both eyes open in surprise, one eyebrow soaring up his forehead, and smacked his mouth loudly. "What - ?! How on earth - ?!" He could barely make out the lazy grin that replied.

"Och. Just a wee spell in my repertoire," she murmured. "Nothing worse, boyo, than wantin' a tad of mornin' delight and having your partner taste like...ugh!" She shuddered, then poked his chest with a long fingernail. "Normally not a problem with you, as ye're such an early bird." He smiled lazily back down at her, hands moving slowly over her torso in an easy rhythm.

A memory of his dream rose up, randomly, and he froze. His eyes widened, and one hand moved up to grasp hers. "I...dreamed..." he said. "And I _knew_ I was dreaming." He stopped. She drew in a quick breath, eyes gleaming in the twilight.

"Did you now! And...?" she prompted.

"And...I stopped the dream, locked up my power, and then went on with it."

Her hand clapped down on his chest with a soft pop, then slid up to caress his chin, brushing over the stubble. "Och, _o cuisle_. 'Tis proud of you I am, then. Too many times..." She paused, sighing. "Too many apprentices with the power inborn never manage that step, and die when the dreams take the power over. Then a master must just...move on." She shrugged. He narrowed his eyes at her, face stiff, sliding an arm behind his head to cushion it.

"Die. You made it sound as if your training was a done deal, a piece of cake."

She snorted. "Aye, of course. Pssshh. I should be tellin' you that you might not control it, might die - destroy your confidence? I think not." Muscles clenched in his jaw, and he grabbed her wrist tightly, angry.

"Do _not_ lie to me about the training. The _one_ point of trust I have in you - " His voice was hard. She shrugged again, and he could faintly see her grimace. His anger flared, grew, and with a swift movement that had her hair whirling in a cloud around them, he changed their positions. Now she was on her back on the bed, him looming over her in the twilight. He pinned her wrists and glared down at her. She simply snorted.

"Aye, well. And who is the apprentice here, and who the master? In matters of magic and power, giant, _I_ decide. What is best for you as apprentice...well. It may not be what you are used to." He growled. She smirked back up at him, and his anger turned into full-blown rage.

"I could snap you like a twig." He leaned forward to hiss it in her ear, and pressed harder on her captured wrists.

"You can try. But I've survived a long, long time, my boy." She sneered up at him, but the pain made her gasp and twist beneath him. As quickly as it had erupted, his rage faded. Anger at the lie still lingered, but the more rational part of his brain had to admit that if she had told him from the start that it probably wouldn't work, it would have colored his efforts, maybe made him more fatalistic. A self-fulfilling prophecy. He found her rough, innate ability to fathom human nature intriguing.

She still had that dreadful need to suck up to royalty and power, though. The thought made him snort, and he slumped against her, burying his face in the hair spread against the sheets.

"You're gonna get yourself killed, one of these days," he muttered matter-of-factly. She chuckled, and he felt her body vibrate beneath him.

"Och, aye, well. People try. Do y'think you could perhaps let my wrists go?"

He lifted his head again to peer down at her with a slow smile, and shifted against her body. "Now why would I do that?" he murmured. "It's making me want to do things." He moved to secure her wrists in one hand and let the other slide down the arm to her body, enjoying the feeling of her silky skin. Her eyelids dipped, extravagant eyelashes brushing against her cheeks, and she smiled a secret smile back at him.

* * *

Dean yawned widely, blinked, and stirred the eggs, whistling tunelessly. He looked up when he heard a noise, and watched Charlie, face darkened by a scowl, make a beeline for the coffee. He suppressed a smile. "Mornin', kiddo!" She whirled on him and growled, then whirled back to the coffee, pouring herself a cup, muttering under her breath. Knowing it was like poking a bear, he still couldn't resist. "What's that?" he asked cheerfully.

She swiveled and gave him a dark look. "I. Wrung. My. Hands."

He blinked. "Really? When?"

Glaring, she snapped, "When Sam collapsed. I _hovered_! And - and dithered - and wrung my hands! Like some idiotic one-dimensional damsel in distress!" She took a deep gulp of coffee, and he watched, fascinated, as her body started to relax. "I mean, _seriously_! Who _does_ that?! Aside from old Disney heroines, that is."

Turning back to the eggs, he stirred them, then pulled open the oven to check the bacon. "Well, if it's any consolation, I was too busy freaking out to notice..."

" _I_ noticed! I _hate_ myself now! So darned _useless_!"

He chuckled. "Don't worry, and do _not_ hate yourself. Natural reaction." Grumbling, she sipped more coffee. He noticed the complaining was quieter, mellower, and smiled to himself about the morning transformation that took place when she got her caffeine fix. Turning to pull plates out of the overhead cabinets, he recoiled as Rowena swept into the kitchen with a smile, also looking for coffee. He eyed her sourly. "You seem mighty alert for someone who was...damned busy last night."

She slid sideways past him, her smile morphing into a satisfied smirk. "A woman has needs, hero. And Samuel...well! Firm. And handsome. And passionate - " He flinched and held up a hand.

"Stop. Just stop right there. TMI, lady!"

"A gentleman, Dean Winchester, would not have commented at all," she said, nose tilting in the air as she tossed her head. Then she bestowed a bright smile on Charlie. "And a very good morning to _you_ , my dear!" Charlie grunted, and drank more coffee. Undeterred, Rowena said, "Ach, well. Once you've had your java, dear, the world will be a brighter place, as shall you!" Humming, she poured herself some coffee and looked around the room, then stiffened as Dani appeared in the doorway.

Dani growled and flashed black. Rowena sniffed. Charlie grunted again. Feeling beleaguered, and faintly outnumbered by the females in the kitchen, Dean turned back to cooking breakfast, shoulders hunched and praying that Cas would come interrupt them. Very soon!

Dani swept past Rowena, grabbed a cup, poured, and glared at the carafe. "Move," she commanded Dean, reaching past him to start the faucet running to rinse the carafe. "We have too many coffee drinkers here," she muttered at him, refilling the carafe.

" _Actually_ , Danielle - " Rowena started.

Dani growled. "My name is Dani, thank you very much. Danielle is someone else entirely." Rowena sniffed again.

"Very well. So...informal." Dani stiffened beside Dean. "As I was saying, I actually prefer tea. But I am quite certain that this...shack...is sadly lacking in a supply." It was Dean's turn to growl, and mentally shout for Cas to get his bloody ass into the kitchen and rescue him. Rowena simpered and took a dainty sip of coffee. "Speakin' of people who kept busy last night...my goodness, you and my son were _very_ loud!" She flicked her eyebrows up at Dani and hunched a shoulder. The words were perfectly pleasant, but Dean imagined he heard swords clashing. He definitely heard Dani's teeth grinding.

 _Cas ain't gonna rescue me. Damn._

He switched the stove off, grabbed the bacon from the oven, and took the now-full carafe from Dani's clenched hands, placing it on the counter. He then took her elbow in a gentle but firm grip and steered her past the room divider into the living area. Charlie had moved up to Dani's other side and now slid an arm around her waist, aiming her at the dining table. "Oh, Dani, it was so fun working with you again - did I say that yesterday? - and as soon as Dean and Cas settle on a spot, we can order all that stuff for the lab, that'll be fun, and it _is_ convenient, Crowley having the money to buy it all - "

Dani gave them both an irritated look, then relaxed, smiled, and slid into one of the chairs.

Dean started back to the kitchen, calling out, "Well, it just so happens that Cas and I _did_ decide on a place; we'll talk about it over food." Rowena started to saunter past him toward the dining table, and he muttered, "Behave yourself, witch, or I'll toss you out on your ass."

"Och! Tremblin' in my shoes, I am!" she murmured back. "I'm sure that Samuel might have somethin' to say about that, seein' as I _am_ the one who is training him..." She smiled sweetly at him and continued on to the table.

 _My God. How long do we have to put up with her?! Gotta talk to Sammy, find out what the fuck he sees in her...probably that 'bad girl' thing he's got going on._

* * *

Sam woke to a raging headache, pressed his hands to his head, and groaned. Prying his gummy eyes open, he searched the bedside table for anything to help it, then muttered indistinctly when it became clear he was going to have to actually wake up, stand up, walk, look elsewhere.

 _Gah. Did too much, too soon. But it worked...didn't it? And now I know I can control my dreams, too._

He looked around the room. Half-familiar, half not. Newly painted walls and the lingering smell of paint and sawdust: "his" room, repaired from the fire.

He levered himself up, swung his legs around, slipped on some clothes, and staggered to the door, running his hands through his hair and pushing it out of his face. A quick jaunt down the hallway got him to the bathroom, and he rummaged in the cabinet for ibuprofen. Glancing at his reflection, his eyes were caught by a red mark on his throat, and, despite the pain, his face broke into a wry smile. _Dude, really?! A hickey?!_

He brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, brushed his hair, and headed out to the living area. There, he was greeted by an unexpected crowd. He stopped, stared in confusion, then slowly made his way to the table, breathing in the scent of breakfast cooking.

Cas. He flashed him a smile, nodded. Crowley. He couldn't look at Crowley; very uncomfortable and conflicted feelings rose up when he did. Dani. He shifted his glance quickly away from her; he vividly remembered her frozen, expressionless black-eyed stare at him over Crowley's body. A bland brown-haired man standing behind Crowley who he didn't know. Charlie. His face broke into a wide grin when he saw her. He strode forward, pulled her up out of her chair, and gave her an immense hug, dropping a swift kiss on the top of her head. "Charlie!" was all he said, but his fondness for her filled his voice.

She grinned up at him, hugging him back. "Sam! We were so _worried_ for you! Stuck in the city, with that disease growing, and crazy people everywhere - " She shivered and tucked her head against his chest for a moment. Then she released him, pushed him to a chair. "Sit, sit, we're about to have breakfast - Dean made bacon and eggs, there's a new pot of coffee, and we're about to have a - a - council of war, like Elrond's Council, Dean and Cas have found a place - "

He sat down, his eyes meeting Rowena's across the table. A tiny, satisfied smile flitted across her face, then was hidden by her cup as she drank a sip of coffee. Sam flushed lightly and reached for the coffee pot and a cup.

Dean emerged from the kitchen laden with two huge platters heaped with bacon and eggs, which he dropped unceremoniously in the center of the table. "Dig in." He walked past Sam, paused to grip his shoulder and shake it gently, a wealth of unsaid emotions behind it. Then he dipped his head next to Sam's and hissed very softly, "Dude! A _hickey_?! Seriously?!" Sam sputtered into his coffee and flushed again, then covered by reaching across the table for a plate. Dean whistled innocently as he sat down.

Everyone was silent for a while as they ate. Sam would glance up, look around, and stutter mentally again as he crossed glances with Crowley or Dani, or flush when he looked at Rowena. It made for an uncomfortable meal.

Then, without warning, multiple people began speaking at once.

"So we have a place figured out - " was Dean's contribution.

"Sam. It's good to see you up and feeling better." Cas's warm eyes rested on him for a moment.

"Moose, darling! I see that you've learned some new things from my mother!" Crowley leered at him.

"Now that we've got a place to deliver to - " Dani started, talking to Charlie.

"Hey, Dani, now that - " Charlie stopped abruptly.

Awkward silence descended. After a moment, Dean rapped his knuckles on the table. "Okay. Let's do this kinda organized, why don't we?" He looked around the table, garnering nods from all. "So. First off, Cas and I scouted out all the Croatoan research labs we burnt out. We need a home base." He was speaking to Sam; Sam assumed that the others already knew. He nodded his understanding. "The best one is the one near Sioux Falls - "

"Jody! Yay!" Charlie cheered. Dean gave her a look and she subsided.

"It's a full facility and already has most of the equipment we're gonna need." This time, he nodded at Dani. "Cas'll fill you and Charlie in on what you're gonna need to order." Dani murmured agreement. "It has plenty of extra rooms we can use for sleeping, which I know Davis will approve of." This time he glanced at the bland man behind Crowley, who returned a prim smile. "Kitchen, showers, locker rooms...it's actually pretty nice."

He stopped, looked around again, and waited for reactions.

The first was from Crowley, who rubbed his beard thoughtfully and peered at him. "And how are we all going to get there?" He noticed Sam's confused look and smiled at him grimly. "We three demons can't flit, there's a posse on our trail, pardner, and they're trailing us by our use of power." Sam's eyes widened. That was a problem. But...

"Now that I can transport - " he started. Crowley waved an impatient hand while shaking his head.

"No, no, no. All very noble of you, Moose, but given your display of yesterday evening, just transporting my mother, who is heavy in scheming but light in weight - " Rowena glared at him and he smirked back. "Well. It knocked you out. The only person in this room that is anywhere near Mother's size is my Dani-girl; the rest are much too heavy until you've practiced more. Besides, this would be a transport much further than between NYC and the Adirondacks. Again, you would need to practice more."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, glanced at Rowena, who shook her head, and closed it again. He folded his lips together, frustrated, then grudgingly said, "Agreed. I can, however, probably take Rowena...?" He glanced at her again. She pursed her lips and thought about it, then shook her head again.

"Och, no, _o cuisle_." Crowley gave her a startled look. "You would have to do it in small jumps, and each would wear you out for hours. My...son...is correct, damn his eyes!" She glared at him again. This time, he didn't smirk, just looked from her to Sam and back again, eyes narrowed in thought.

Dani heaved a sigh. "Innie-Me is offering to drive one of the cars." She slid an amused look at Crowley, who closed his eyes and shuddered.

"Only for you, pet," he murmured.

Dean slapped the table. "We do have Cas, y'know." Cas nodded. "He'll do it?" He raised his eyebrows in question at the angel. Cas blinked, looked into the distance, and seemed to make some mental calculations. Finally he nodded again.

"But. We do need the cars," Dean added. "Sam and I can drive them."

"I'll take Rowena with me," Sam said quickly. "I've only managed to stop my dream power use once so far, so I need wards when I sleep." Dean squinted at him, not looking very happy. "And I need to practice the transport stuff, too."

Dean was silent a moment more, jaw clenched, then he drew in a resigned breath. "Okay. We can do that." Rowena simpered at him, and he scowled. "Right. We should get this circus going, then. Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

"Charlie and Dani first. They'll order equipment up. Davis next; he can organize the place, set up sleeping quarters, order kitchen supplies, food, stuff like that. Jody can help," he added in an aside to Davis. "She's in Sioux Falls, can take you shopping."

"Very good, sir," Davis murmured.

"Crowley and yourself last, and Sam and I start driving. Everyone, pack your bags."


	14. All You Zombies (The Hooters)

**A/N: so, yeah, it's been a while. I have a teen daughter-that's difficult enough! ;-) But I've spent the months since May in a state of existential dread for my country, which manifested itself in hardly any writing, and none on this story. However! I have an outline for the rest of the book, and I am trying to rev the ol' writing engine back up, so.**

 **I also have new readers who have been asking me for more. Guilt doesn't get things written, but happy readers does make fighting writer's block easier.**

 **Here ya go.**

* * *

Sam opened the trunk of Crowley's luxurious town car to toss in the assortment of weapons Dean had parceled out from Baby, then stopped in confusion. A female, trussed up and sweating profusely, growled up at him from behind a gag, struggling to get loose. He blinked. She blinked back, then flashed beetle blacks at him. "Hunh." He called out, "Crowley! Dammit, there's a demon tied up in the trunk of your car! What the hell are we supposed to do with her?"

Crowley poked his head out of the open cabin door, then sauntered over and joined him. He peered down into the trunk, rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, and chewed his lips in thought.

"Dear me. We all seem to have forgotten her," he murmured.

"Why'd you bring her?" Sam fidgeted, uncomfortable with Crowley's nearness. He didn't have much experience with patching it up with someone he had killed before.

"Eh. Dani thought she might be useful for samples and suchlike. She's - "

"Sick, yeah, I can see it." And he could. His forgot his discomfort with Crowley as he bent down to examine the demon more closely. In his other-sight, she had the standard oily black webwork of demon essence obscuring her body, but it had a faint sickly green glow threaded through, showing up as scabrous patches in spots, almost like rotting fungus. The blue glow of the human soul compacted behind the demon essence also had spots of the green. He extended a tentative finger to poke at one of the surface patches, and snatched it back immediately, fighting an urge to vomit at the taint he could feel with his power. "Ugh!" He wiped his hand up and down on his thigh, trying to wipe away the feeling. It was futile, as it wasn't a physical manifestation.

Crowley watched with interest. "You see something?"

He grunted. "Yeah. Looks like - " He thought for a moment. "Like glow-in-the-dark womrms. And feels disgusting when I touch it with my power. Slimy. Rotten. Think of the very worst thing rotting in the back of your refrigerator, then multiply it. Ugh."

Crowley rubbed his beard, then scratched the back of his head. "Having not had to deal with rotten food in a few hundred years, long before refrigeration, I wouldn't know. I'll take your word for it. We were too busy fighting to take time for a leisurely inspection, and then we couldn't use our power, so I have no idea what she looks like to another demon. Interesting." He slid a glance at Sam. "Maybe we can use you as an early warning system, Moose..."

Sam murmured a thoughtful, "Hmmm." Then he turned toward the cabin and yelled, "Cas!"

The soft ruffle of wings sounded and Cas appeared next to him. "No need to shout, Sam. What is it?"

Sam pointed into the trunk. Cas's eyes followed his gesture toward the infected demon, then he frowned and took a step forward. "I have never seen anything like this before," he murmured, wondering.

"Yeah, well, Dani needs her for samples of the disease. So I guess you should just transport her like the others..."

Cas blinked up at him, then nodded. Without a word, he reached a hand forward to touch her shoulder, and with another feathery ruffle, he vanished, leaving the trunk empty.

"Well. I guess we can use Cas as part of our warning system, too." Sam stood there for a moment, still absently rubbing his hand on his blue jeans. Then he leaned down, grabbed some weapons from the heap on the ground, and started loading them into the trunk.

"Well, then. Since that's dealt with, I think I'll just leave you to your endeavors, Moose," Crowley smirked. He turned and sauntered back to the cabin.

Sam frowned after him. _Trust him to get out of anything that seems like work!_

* * *

She peered down at the newspaper she held in her hands, frowning. The headlines blared, yes; fear shouted out from every word in the captions of the photographs and the lead paragraphs. All very satisfying. And, yet.

Not fast enough. Not overwhelming enough. The hairless apes in charge had somehow managed to pull themselves together to clamp down on routes in and out of the New York area and surrounds. Give it time, and there was always a faint possibility that either they would come up with some human way to deal with it, or it would just burn through the contained population and die with them. The outbreaks outside the area had been dealt with...harshly. Father's pet project was proving to be infuriatingly competent.

She forgot the humanity cloaking her as her lips peeled back from her teeth in a feral grimace.

While she had been reading, thinking, her feet had carried her forward as the line moved, and she realized with a start that she was standing before the barista. He was a sweet young thing who flirted with her each time she was there. She blinked at him, considering. Then she smiled at him.

It was fascinating to watch the color bleed out of his face, like water rushing from a drain. He must see something of her true form. Her smile widened. She reached forward to cup his cheek in her hand, murmuring, "Why, yes. Yes, I think you'll do nicely." Her hand slid down to seize his shoulder in a biting grip, she reached out with power, twisted, and...

He gasped, eyes wide and darting in all directions at the unexpected new surroundings. At the same time, he tried to twist away from her; her fingers dug into his shoulder more deeply in response. She turned slowly, hauling him with her, eyes cataloging the canyon-like street, head tilted to listen.

"Ah. Yes. This way, boy." She strode down the street, dragging him after her.

"What-what-where _are_ we?!" he croaked. "I'm dreaming, right? Or I've gone crazy. And it's _cold_!" His voice trailed off in a thin wail, and he wrapped his arms around himself, teeth chattering.

She didn't even glance at him. "I am so sorry, sweetness," she crooned, pulling him toward a dingy alleyway. "Not a dream, not crazy. But, you see, my plan needs a little tweaking, and you are just the person to do it for me." There. A group of them, standing in the gray shadows cast by the towering buildings on either side. She yanked him in front of herself, then released him with a sharp push toward the shuffling group in the shadows. He stumbled a step or two, caught himself, gave the ominous figures ahead a worried glance, and turned to face her, arms still striving to protect himself from the chill wind funneling down the alley.

"But-but-where _are_ we?!" he repeated.

A low series of growls answered him. The shadows peeled apart and moved forward, and the growling grew louder.

"New York City, sweetling," she caroled happily.

He paled even further, then whirled to face the growling people shuffling towards him. "New York. They have that-that disease!" he protested as he stepped backwards toward her. His voice rose in panic. "They'll _kill_ us!"

"Oh, no, little one. Definitely not me, and I'll get you away before they kill _you._ But not before they get some good bites in." He tried to make a break, and she flipped a lazy hand up, pinning him where he stood. "My little project was stalling out. I need a vector. You were handy." She shrugged. Then she watched with interest as the shambling, diseased hairless apes reached him and started clawing and biting. After a few minutes, she waved her hand to send the attackers flying, sauntered over, grabbed a handful of the young man's shirt and hauled him, shaking and moaning, to his toes. She peered at him, noting the blood streaming from his many wounds, and smiled with satisfaction.

"Very good. Now it's time for a whirlwind tour of the US, then some international travel. First stop...hmmm..." She paused and nibbled thoughtfully at her lips. "Oh, let's go to Hollywood! That would be fun! Don't you think that would be fun?"

Dazed eyes stared back at her. She tsked, shook him lightly, and they vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

* * *

Bert had taken to his hidey-hole immediately after the ruckus in the throne room, and had stayed there for a few days. It was a comfortable, well equipped loft apartment in Manhattan, and, even in the midst of growing chaos, the cell phone system and data links kept mechanically functioning. He had followed the news as it got worse and worse. With no word from Crowley, telling the demon horde to return, he felt abandoned, fearful.

And bored.

And hungry.

So the day came that he decided that, signal from Crowley or no, it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. His power tended to the organizational aspect of the world, and his flitting was limited, so he planned a route of short flits to make his way out of the New York Metro area. He'd have to scout each stop out while he recuperated, but he was used to that. And his hidey-hole would still be there when he returned, when this mess was cleaned up.

He carefully didn't examine the question of _if_ this mess would be cleaned up. It just didn't bear thinking of.

He took one last look around his apartment, nodded to himself, and blinked out.

His first stop was in the small convenience store at the back of the first floor. After appearing, he glanced quickly around to be sure none of the diseased humans was about. The store was empty, both of people and of food and goods; the floor was covered by broken glass and a disgusting mess of dried Pepsi and ketchup. He picked his way through the clutter to the back door to the outside world, nose wrinkling at the smell. He peered through the plate glass door into the alleyway, reaching for the handle-

Damn. Zombies. He pulled his hand back and quickly slid aside from the door, angling so he could see without being seen.

It was very strange. A woman stood in the middle of the alley with a teenage boy, looking at the shambling group moving toward them. He wanted to warn them, but bit his mouth closed. If they were stupid enough to just stand there... While he watched, she pushed the protesting boy toward the group, and watched while the creatures tore and bit at him.

Even for a demon, that was pretty nasty.

Then she smashed the pack back with a gesture, and she and the boy vanished. Flitted, probably. The pack of hunters howled in a frenzy, foiled from their prey.

The whole episode was weird. And for some reason, the woman tingled a spark of recognition in him. He frowned, thinking about it, then shrugged. Time to flit again, this time to a building a few blocks away, on the edge of the park. It would be nice to have a bigger distance range, but, hey. It was what it was; he couldn't change his demonic makeup.

As he flitted, the hinted recognition of the woman clicked. Crowley's resurrection. She had been there. She was the woman who had housed Crowley's soul.

What in the _Hell?_

What in the Hell was going on?!

* * *

Dean pulled the cabin door shut. The flurry of movement was done; Cas had transported Charlie, Crowley, Dani, Davis, and that odd trussed-up demon to the new home base, along with laptops and belongings, and Sam and (ugh!) Rowena were standing by Crowley's absurd towncar waiting for him. He tossed Baby's keys in his hand, strode over the packed snow in the driveway to them, and said, "Well. That's all done. Ready for a caravan?" Sam flicked him an amused grin and nodded. Rowena hunched in her winter cape, tilted her nose up in the air and sniffed. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Let's go," was all he said, as he climbed inside the Impala. A gust of hot air from the heater hit him, and he grinned, poking the radio button. His grin faded as he realized it was yet another emergency bulletin.

"-troops surrounding the metro area. Senator Gillibrand has lodged a protest with the president, stating that her offices have been flooded with calls from panicked constituents with healthy relatives still in the city-"

He fiddled with the tuning button, but the same emergency broadcast was on every station. He growled, switched to the cassette player and stuffed in a mix tape. In e meantime, Sam had pulled the huge black car out of the driveway into the snow in the road beyond the cabin, and was carefully rocking the car back and forth to pack it down. The passenger window rolled down.

"Oi! Hero! Sam says to squeeze by, he can't move the car back any further!"

Dean grimaced, then put the car into gear and eased his way past the front corner of the towncar. The snow on the dirt road to town was well packed from their comings and goings, so once the maneuver was successful, he started slowly down it. He watched the towncar in the rear view mirror with one eye, and when he was satisfied that they had gotten free from the snowbank behind him, he grunted and gave Baby more gas.

The trip was quiet (aside from his classic rock) and uneventful. I-87 to Saratoga Springs, then cut southwest on 88 to the outskirts of Schenectady, where they would catch I-90 and a blast straight west. All the roads were eerily empty, which made his back tight. It was unnaturally smooth sailing, in fact, and his superstitious side kicked in, assuming there would be trouble.

It was near where Vley Road turned into 880, and the ensuing spaghetti to get onto 90, where the trouble hit. The streets were so empty that Dean had debated just blasting through stop lights, but ingrained habit, and grumbling from Sam over the walkie-talkie the first time he tried it, dissuaded him. While he waited at the stop light at Rt. 5, the other car behind him, he realized that a crowd had gathered a short distance ahead, where the freeway really started. He squinted at it, sighed, and picked up the walkie talkie.

"Yo. Sam. See ahead of us?"

"Yup." Sam's voice was grim. "Doesn't look good."

The individual people he could see just didn't look...right. And as he waited, fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel, a sudden commotion at one spot in the crowd caught his eyes. He watched as three shapes turned on a fourth, pulled it down, and his jaw worked. There were a helluva lot of them, just waiting. He keyed the talk button again.

"Croats, Sammy." That was why everything was so empty-at least here. What had happened to the National Guard keeping the disease contained in the city?

"Yeah. What do we do?"

"We could always go back into Schenectady main, find a different way onto 880..." His voice trailed off.

"Bet you there'll be more there, too."

Dean slumped in the seat, watching the lights go through a cycle as he thought. Finally he sighed, and called to Sam again.

"Okay. Pull your car next to mine, and we'll just..." He paused, then gritted out, "Ram 'em, I guess."

There was a long, static-filled silence. Then Sam's voice came through, resigned and sad. "Yeah. Guess that's what we're gonna have to do. I don't like it, though."

"What the _hell_! Y'think _I_ like it, Sammy?!" His stomach clenched. No matter how dangerous, these were innocent people, victims of the Devil's cocktail of Croatoan virus.

Sam made some soothing noises, then sighed. The static rang out again as he pulled the towncar up beside Baby. Dean could see him leaning forward to look past Rowena, giving the thumbs up signal. Insanely, they waited for the light to turn green again, then the two cars moved as one, revving up quickly and barreling down on the shuffling, shambling crowd ahead of them. Dean clenched his teeth, fingers biting down hard on the steering wheel, as they raced closer. The Croats weren't running, dammit.

As the two cars plowed into the crowd, Dean swallowed angrily against the bile coming up his throat. He winced at the thumps and thuds against the Impala, but grimly kept his foot down on the gas pedal, keeping his eyes focused forward and ignoring the zombies who scrabbled against the side of the car as it slowed.

 _Don't look at them, don't look at them, don't look at them!_

Directly in front of him, flashing before his eyes, was an old woman with straggly gray hair. He hit, she slumped, the car bumped over her. He could see, faintly, out of the corners of his eyes, a pair of teens yanking at the door of the towncar beside him. The hands of one caught in the handle, and he was dragged along as the towncar doggedly kept moving forward.

The cars were slowing, as the weight of the crowd pulled at them and the bodies being hit robbed them of forward momentum.

Dean swallowed again, grimacing, and pressed his foot down on the gas. The engine roared, and the car kept moving forward, accompanied by screams, growls, the sound of hands and bodies thumping against the exterior.

After an eternity of this massacre, suddenly Baby was free and leapt forward, engine screaming. Dean cursed, lifting his foot and yanking the wheel as the roadway angled left, and then he was storming towards the spaghetti-like exchange to get onto I-90. He slammed his foot on the brakes, slowing quickly, and yanked the car right onto the merge ramp, back end fishtailing wildly.

And then he was down to a safe, sane speed, followed the ramp through the curve and onto I-90 west. He flashed a quick glance into the rear view, seeing, with vivid relief, Sam and Rowena in the towncar following behind him. He let out a shuddering sigh and spent a few minutes just driving on the empty highway, letting his heart rate settle and taking a sip from his water bottle to clear the ashy dryness left over from the encounter. The Impala's hood was strewn with blood and guts, and the sight made him heave again.

 _Have to take care of that ASAP._

The walkie talkie sputtered at him, then Sam said, "Hey."

He grabbed it and toggled the talk key.

"Hey." Damn. His voice was still shaky.

"You okay?" Sam's voice was shaky, too, he noticed.

"Yeah. That was..." He couldn't finish, and swallowed again.

"Yeah. Hella scary. And..." Sam's voice trailed off.

"Shit! Those poor God-damned people, Sam!" Dean's voice was filled with anguish and anger.

"Yeah." It was just one word, but the tone held an infinity of understanding.

Baby rang with horrified silence for the next few hours, until they pulled off for food and gas in Syracuse.


	15. Industrial Disease (Dire Straits)

It was the two teens who had clung to the door of the town car that shook Sam the most. Under the twisted faces, blood and grime, they could have been any teen from any all-American town. The girl had even been wearing the remnants of what looked to be a cheerleader outfit. It was a horrifying symbol of what would happen across the country - across the world - if no-one found a way to stop the progress of the new Croatoan.

All the people they had rammed the car through...a few weeks ago, their lives were ordinary, everyday small city lives. Veterinarians, farmers, lawyers, clerks, abruptly turned into frothing, foaming monsters.

He realized he was shaking, nauseous, and he had to swallow, over and over again, to keep from vomiting. He was also flicking into and out of the other-sight at random: one moment, the car hood was covered with blood and guts, the next, all was overlain with a slimy, glowing greenish-gray web that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Taking a long, shuddering breath, he clenched his hands on the steering wheel and forced himself to focus, stop his compulsive glimpses of the magical undercurrents.

Rowena was watching him with concern, and she finally murmured, "'Tis bad, yes, but y'must control yourself and your response - otherwise - "

"I know. I _know_!" Gritting his teeth, he thumped one hand on the wheel. He took another steadying breath, set his jaw, and concentrated on the Impala ahead of him. Rowena, tossing him another doubtful glance, said nothing more.

It was a relief to finally follow Baby off the highway into a rest stop. As soon as the town car came to a stop beside the Impala, Sam yanked the door open, stumbled a few feet away, bent over, and vomited onto the oily concrete.

"Yo, Sammy! Are you all right?" Dean was beside him. He waved him off, about to reassure him, when he saw Rowena getting out. She was careful to avoid the grotesque mess, but he saw her hand reaching to close the car door, aimed right at one of the tangled green-glowing spots.

"Ro! Don't touch that! Get away from the car!"

Rowena froze, and swiveled to look at him with a puzzled frown.

"Dean - we've gotta wash the cars. Now!" he choked out. He spat bad-tasting saliva out of his mouth.

Dean laid a concerned hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, sure, can't be driving around with them looking like this, but - "

"Dean! Wash your car _NOW_!" Straightening up, he drew in another steadying breath. "Look...you can't see it, Rowena can't see it, but the cars are covered with - with - " he stopped, waving a helpless hand. How to describe it? "Virus. Croatoan contamination." Dean glanced at the cars with a worried frown. "The smallest cut, abrasion on your skin - it'll get in, infect you. Ro, stay put, hold on." Grabbing his brother's arm, he pulled him towards Baby. "I can see it. Here - " He pointed at spots on the driver's side door. "Here, here, here." He edged his hand in carefully, glad that none of the Croats had hung on Dean's car door handles, and pulled the door open. Glancing in, he found the cloth that Dean kept handy to polish small spots, and grabbed it. "Here. Take this. When you've gone through the car wash two or three times, when you get out, use the cloth to touch the car. I'll let you know if it's okay then."

Dean started to say something, gave him a quick, grim look, nodded, and climbed into the car.

Sam headed back to Crowley's car. "Okay, Rowena, you wait while I do the same thing with this one." She nodded and stepped further back, folding her hands together in front of herself.

Going through the car wash was soothing: the hum of the machinery, the gentle "whap whap" of the multitude of soft cloth fingers slapping against the car, the soapy water pouring down. He ran the car through twice, then, shaking, a third time, just to be sure. It was interesting: he could feel his nausea subsiding, further and further, with each run through the machine.

 _Hunh. Must have been the contamination getting to me. Or, maybe...maybe just psychosomatic. Whatever. Glad that shit is gone!_

When he pulled the town car up next to the Impala, he slipped into the other-sight and scanned it. No traces were left of the Crotoan webwork, just the outline of the electrical system, glowing golden, fading away as he watched. Dean cocked a questioning eyebrow at him, and he nodded as he got out of the car. Dean let out a little sigh, nodded back, and seemed to suddenly relax. He hadn't realized how keyed up Dean had been. Scanning obsessively, he circled both cars, then relaxed himself as he realized both cars were now clean.

"Not a trace," he breathed.

"Well. So now that _that's_ done, let's grab a bite, rest for a bit, and then head on," Dean said.

* * *

It was five of them in the cabin now: Charlie, Dani, Davis, Crowley, and, of course, Castiel. Dani eyed him curiously, then blinked as his hand fell on Charlie's shoulder and the two of them vanished.

Crowley frowned into the space they had vacated, and murmured, "I should warn you, Dani-girl - "

The muffled sound of ruffling wings interrupted him. The angel now stood next to her, peering at her with those astonishingly vivid blue eyes. His eyebrows twitched together just a fraction, and he said gravely, "As you are a demon, this may...cause you a small amount of discomfort," as he reached out to touch her own shoulder.

 _~~"some discomfort"? that's doctorese for "hurts like hell" - ~~_

Innie-Me's voice faded...

...Dani was wrenched inside out...

...she plunged into infinite blackness spangled with stars and draperies of nebulae...

...she was torn in three: one part frozen in the cabin, another strewn across the universe, burning and churning with the lash of holy fire slashing like lightning across her demon essence, the third standing in a bland, empty conference room. It lasted forever. It lasted a nonosecond. It did, indeed, "hurt like hell"; in fact, it was excruciating. It was nothing like when she flitted by herself, or was taken with another demon on their flit.

 _This must be what it's like to be reaped by an angel_ , she thought, and the thought flickered and echoed over and over throughout the cosmos.

Then all three parts snapped together, and she was standing in the empty conference room. She slid bonelessly to the floor, keening in pain.

 _~~goddamn~~_

Innie-Me's voice was faint and strained.

 _Yeah. That sucked._

"Dani!" Charlie fell to her knees beside her, touching her gently. "Are you okay?!" She glared at Castiel. "What on earth did you _do_ to her?!"

The angel hovered awkwardly over them. He reached out an automatic healing hand towards Dani's forehead, then froze, fingertips an inch from her skin. "I have never...never transported a demon before," he said. "And, as she is a demon, I cannot heal her." If she could venture a guess, she'd say the angel was feeling guilty. His eyes were wide and concerned.

She flapped a weak hand at him. "Go on, get. Bring the others. I'll be fine," she mumbled. He blinked. She snarled wordlessly and flapped her hand again. He gave her a brief, worried nod, and vanished. "I'll be fine," she repeated to Charlie, who patted her with anxious hands, then pulled her up to lean against her.

 _~~will you?~~_

 _At some point, yes._

 _~~sure?~~_

 _Oh, by Azazel,_ _ **yes**_ _! Quit hovering!_

Castiel reappeared, clutching a pale, shaking Davis, who tottered over to a wall and leaned against it, eyes closed. Castiel peered at him, folded his lips and shook his head, then vanished a third time. When he returned, he was holding Crowley's shoulder. Crowley's chin was tilted up, mouth clamped shut, nostrils flared. He shook the angel's hand off impatiently, stood in his standard legs-wide braced pose. As he settled the cuffs of his shirt sleeves and brushed an infinitesimal mote of dust off his suit jacket, he flashed a tight grin at Dani.

"As I was saying, pet, I should warn you that angel transport of a demon is...erm...hellish. For the demon." With that, he crouched down beside her, clasped her hand, and sent a warm burst of power flowing through her. She drew a shuddering breath at the abrupt relief of pain, nodded at him, and he stood back up, pulling her with. Shooting a glance at Davis, he growled, "And you?"

Davis stood straighter, gave a small cough, and replied, "I am recuperating swiftly, sir."

"Splendid." He slid his arm around her waist, his hand brushing her delicately, and pulled her close. "First order of business, Davis: a bed." He leered down at her. Their eyes locked, and her breath caught, her body tingling.

"No doubt, sir," Davis murmured. She could almost hear his eyes rolling. She snickered.

"Beds for everyone!" Castiel commanded.

 _~~you get a bed! and_ _ **you**_ _get a bed!_ _ **everyone**_ _gets a bed!~~_

Dani snickered again.

* * *

Crowley strolled through the empty premises, mentally labeling rooms. He itched to be doing something - _any_ thing. But there they were: he was, frankly, irrelevant in this fight. They needed a cure for the viruses, and their best bet was Dani, Ms. Bradbury, and whatever doctor demons they could round up. Being irrelevant infuriated him; he was accustomed to being the puppet master behind the scenes, making others dance at his whim. He grimaced sourly at the thought. Pausing at a plate glass window looking out on a truly boring, flat landscape, punctuated by a small parking lot and a few winter-deadened shrubs, he stopped and stared blindly out the window, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

 _Bored. I am bored._

He shook his head impatiently. At some point, they were going to have to attack Lucifer himself - herself, currently. Then he would be back in business. The thought brightened his mood; he began to swing away from the window when he was interrupted by the muted buzz of his phone.

He fished it out, glanced down at the screen, snarled, and answered.

"Burt. Darling. I'm sure you have a very good reason for breaking the radio silence I _SPECIFICALLY COMMANDED_?!" His voice started with a purr and ended in a roar. There was a long silence at the other end of the connection, then a nervous throat-clearing.

"Well, um, actually..." Burt's voice trailed off.

"I'm waiting, cupcake. This had better be good." He squinted angrily out the window.

"Um. Well. See, I decided to leave my safe house - "

"You. Decided. To. Leave." Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, well, I know we were supposed to stay put, sire, but, well - " Burt fell silent. Crowley kept his mouth shut: it was an excellent way to make people feel uncomfortable and start blabbering. He had found out many interesting things, merely by using a pointed bout of silence.

Burt finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "So - anyway - so I saw this weird thing, and I thought you needed to hear about it - "

Crowley rolled his eyes, but listened, and by the end of Burt's tale was pleased he had held his tongue.

"So. To recap: you saw the woman who harbored my dead soul as it was waiting to be reborn, and she was both using power and staking out a boy for the...entertainment...of some Croats?" He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Yes, sire!" Burt sounded relieved that his news had interested the king. Crowley suppressed a fleeting, pleased smile at the thought.

"You are absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure that it was the same woman?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, sire! Definitely!" Poor Burt, so pathetically eager to reassure him!

"Well. This once, pet - _once_! - " He paused, letting the dangerous tone of his voice, and the unspecified threat, put the fear of the King of Hell into his minion. "I will excuse your outrageous flouting of my command. This information is...quite interesting, and potentially useful."

"Yes, sire! I am so glad you're pleased, sire!" Pathetic.

"However, it is now time to scuttle, like a scared rat, back to your bolt hole."

Burt paused. Then he said, pleading: "Sire? Must I? I have another safe house outside of the city. And...and...well..." His voice trailed off. "It's sort of...creepy here. Sire."

Crowley blinked. He thought about it. He could actually see how being in the plague-ridden city could be "creepy". And the info Burt had passed on was, indeed, important. He rocked back and forth on his feet, thinking, ending up rubbing a hand across the back of his head.

"Oh, very well," he snapped, finally.

There was a sigh of relief from Burt, a murmured, "Thank you, sire!" and the call ended there. Pulling the phone away from his head, he stared down at it, thinking. A dark frown spread across his face.

* * *

Charlie and Dani had found an old folding table hidden away in one of the empty offices, and folding chairs, so they dragged the furniture back to the conference room, set the pieces up, and dumped their laptops and tablets on the table. By now, they had ordered a large portion of the bio lab items on their list, and Dani was leaning over Charlie, debating which brand of autoclave they should purchase, when there was a faint poof of displaced air behind them.

Dani knew that sound, and right now, it terrified her. She whirled around to see a grim Crowley. "You flitted! You're not supposed to - "

There was another soft sound, and a foaming, growling demon appeared behind him. He waved an impatient hand, snapping his fingers, and the demon exploded. Then he stepped forward, grabbed her arm in a punishing grip, and said, in a tight, angry voice, "We need to talk."

With that, he was pulling her out of the conference room, leaving a gaping, protesting Charlie behind. He thrust her ahead of him, pushing with a hard hand in the middle of her back.

 _~~now what?!~~_

"What - what on earth? What's wrong?"

They had turned a corner in the corridor, and he halted, thrusting her against the wall. He stepped forward, planting his hands on either side of her, his arms like bars, and growled, "I _told_ you to kill her!"

Her eyes flashed slick black in response to the angry red flare spinning in his pupils, and she quickly warded against the power swirling around him. "What. The. Hell. Is your problem?"

He leaned his head in towards hers and hissed in her ear, "The woman who had my soul. You _stupid_ , **_moronic_** baby demon!" It wasn't his usual caressing nickname this time - it was sheer fury.

" _What_ are you talking about?!" she hissed back.

"Your little gesture of 'mercy' may have killed us all!" he snarled. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a long breath between clenched teeth, and stepped back, dropping his arms. "Burt encountered her setting a trap for Croats in Manhattan. She baited them into tearing into a victim, who she then promptly _vanished_ with." The emphasis on the word "vanished" made her blink, and set her thoughts racing.

"Lucifer?" she breathed in dismay. "Creating a vector to use to spread the virus?"

He dragged a hand across his face, sighed, and nodded.

She slumped back against the wall again. "Damn."

An ironic eyebrow flipped up at that. "You think?" Then the anger was flaring up again. "If you had done the sensible thing, _killed_ her, we might not be in this mess now!"

She folded her lips and glared. "Give me a break. If he hadn't used _her_ , he would have found someone else."

Crowley opened his mouth to snap a rejoinder, then he stopped, growled, and shut it with an angry click. She tilted her head and smirked, pointing a finger at him.

"Gotcha there."

He stood before her, fuming, for a moment, then sagged, all the anger draining out of him.

"Dammit, woman! Why do you have to be right?"

"Look. Long ago and far away, you hired me to figure things out. Right? So why get angry when I do? There's a whole world of temporary vessels out there for him to use. He just happened to use her."

He growled again, which made her smile. It was a different growl, with no more fury behind it. Her eyes wandered his face, from his deepset, intelligent brown eyes, to his thinning hair, then to his sensuous lips, and back up to his eyes. Now they were sparkling, dancing with amusement, and they drew her, as they always did. She swayed forward, and he caught her in his arms, pulled her closer. He leaned his head down to hers, murmuring, "Let's just keep this little tidbit on the down-low, pet, until Moose and Squirrel and - ugh - my mother arrive and the whole gang is together again." Then he moved his head a little further inward, nibbled at her earlobe, and whispered, "Meanwhile, perhaps we could see just how soon those beds Davis is ordering will arrive, eh?"

She molded her body to his, with a little twist of her hips against him, whigh drew a soft, gasping groan from him. Her nose buried into his neck, breathing in his scent, she murmured back, "We don't necessarily need a bed, y'know..."

"Ahem!"

Dani froze, then peeped out from behind Crowley's beard at Charlie, who stood there with her arms crossed and a foot tapping.

"I might have known I'd find you two canoodling! And here I thought I was about to rescue you from - from certain death or - or eternal torture - or something!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Well?! Are you coming to help me finish off ordering supplies or not?"

Dani bit her lips and buried her laughter against Crowley's chest. He regarded Charlie with a sour expression.

"You do realize, Ms. Bradbury, that you have a very unfortunate habit of interrupting us at...erm...inopportune moments?"

 _~~he's right, y'know~~_

Charlie flounced around and started back down the corridor. "It sometimes seems like _every_ moment is inopportune when you two are together!" She marched off. Dani slowly disengaged, grinning at her demon lover.

 _~~she's right, too...~~_

 _Oh, shut up, Innie-Me._


	16. Sweet Child O' Mine (Bon Jovi)

Davis and Crowley stood outside the facility, which looked like every other small office building scattered across the US: boxy, three stories, reflective windows presenting a bland, innocuous facade to the world. Davis stood straight, hands clasped lightly behind his back; Crowley, as usual, fidgeted, rocked on his feet, frowned, darted glances around.

"So, since I didn't listen the first time, who are we waiting for, again?" Crowley said.

A tiny smile flitted across Davis's face. "And, again, sir: a friend of the Winchesters has offered to assist with furnishings and groceries."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Why in the bloody hell do we need this? Demons, remember? You can just pop in and out, transport the things we need - "

Looking out towards the main road, Davis rolled his own eyes . "Sir. May I remind you that the demon Croats seem to be especially attuned to your use of power? And that of your closest associates - to wit, myself and Miss Dani? We require transportation. And we are sadly lacking in that while the Winchesters travel across the country."

Crowley rocked back and forth for a moment, puffing his cheeks out as he digested his butler's reasons. Then he snorted softly. "If you hadn't worked for me on and off for more than two centuries, Davis, I'd flay you for such disrespect."

"No doubt, sir," Davis replied absently. He craned his neck. Pointing, he said, "There. The pick-up truck. I believe that is her."

Behind them, the door opened, and Charlie and Dani emerged, stretching. "Hey, guys! What's up? Dani and I needed a break - outfitting a lab is hard work!" Charlie glanced where Davis was pointing. "Oh! Visitors!" Shading her eyes from the bright early-morning February sun, she smiled widely. "Jody! Oh, yay!" She started waving, not noticing Crowley's abrupt step back towards the door.

Dani squinted at Crowley. "What's wrong?" He flashed her a tight smile, slid and arm around her waist, and pulled her close.

"Dear me. This could be awkward. Foolish of me not to put two and two together before this..."

She jabbed him with an elbow. "Talk." He said nothing, just rubbed his nose and grimaced.

The pick-up pulled slowly into the parking space before the front door, tires popping and crunching on the loose gravel scattered across the blacktop. The engine died, then a short woman in uniform with head-cupping short black hair and shrewd eyes emerged from the driver's side. At the same time, the passenger door opened, and a young woman with wavy long black hair climbed out. The uniformed woman walked forward, then came to an abrupt stop, looking at Crowley. Her lips tightened, her eyebrows pinched together in a frown, and her hand came to rest on the butt of her sidearm. "Crowley," she said, voice carefully neutral. Her eyes looked tired, strained.

Crowley sighed softly, then straightened, released Dani, and stepped forward. "Jody, my dear! So very good to see you again!"

Her lips tightened at the greeting, and she said nothing. Her frown remained as she scanned the rest of the people waiting. Dani and Davis got neutral looks, then her eyes landed on Charlie. A wide smile crossed her face, and she seemed to relax. "Charlie!"

The next few moments were filled with happy, excited chatter as Charlie and the two women exchanged hugs. Then Jody stepped back. "So. I assume that, for some reason, Dean and Sam are working with you again," she said to Crowley. He smirked and nodded. Her lips tightened again. "More fools them." A pause, then she clapped her hands together. "Well! Who is Alex going to ferry around Sioux City's best shops? I can't do it; we're short-handed and the Croat disease seems to have sprung up hereabouts. Not good." She waved her hand at Alex. "Anyway, whoever it is - and it better not be you! - " she interjected, looking directly at Crowley, "Hop in the truck, we'll go back to the office, and you'll use Alex's truck." She looked around questioningly.

Davis stepped forward and gave a polite cough. "Ahem. That would be me, Deputy Mills, Miss Alex." He nodded greeting. They eyed him, Jody shrugged, and Alex gestured to the truck.

"Well, then. Hop in and let's go." Alex climbed in, Davis behind her.

After getting in herself, Jody leaned out the open window. "Charlie! When are the boys getting here?"

Charlie pushed her hair back out of her eyes. "Tomorrow morning?" She waggled her hand in a "give-or-take" motion.

"Okay, then, all of you are due at my house for dinner tomorrow." She stabbed a finger at Crowley. " _Not_ you. You're not invited." Pulling her head back in, she maneuvered the truck out of the parking lot with quick, precise movements and roared off.

Dani looked after the truck. "Well. She certainly doesn't like you. I wonder why that might be?" She turned her gaze on Crowley, eyebrows raised in gentle inquiry.

He coughed, pushed his hands into his pants pockets, and looked innocently off into the distance. "Ah, well...there might have been some insincere romancing, then I attempted to kill her - slowly - to get the Winchesters to agree to stop doing something."

There was a moment of silence as both Charlie and Dani frowned at him. "What?!" His voice was injured. "It worked!"

* * *

"I'm beat, Sam." Dean's voice was tired and strained and barely audible over the walkie-talkie. "So I vote we pull off at the next exit, take a breather, see if we can't grab a motel room."

Sam grabbed the handset, pushed the transmit button, and stared out into the darkness, snorting with ironic amusement. "Well. Bristol, Indiana. There's a truck stop, and there's a trucker's motel attached, so sounds good to me."

Static sputtered from the walkie-talkie. Then Dean keyed the talk button again. "Just tell me how you know that, dude."

Sam snorted again. "Dean. I was here just a few weeks ago, remember?"

The static filled the air again, and in his mind's eye, he could see Dean opening and closing his mouth a few times. Finally, the static broke with a click and a noncommittal grunt from his brother.

"Just make sure to be gettin' us two rooms." Rowena's drowsy voice drifted out of the cocoon she had made of her cape in the passenger seat of the town car. A rustle and her head, topped with a mass of messy red curls, peeped over the edge. Sam's lips twitched and he glanced at her, but he said nothing. Light from a lone illuminated billboard glimmered in her eyes as she watched him, and she wrestled an arm out from under the cape and shook an elegant finger at him. "Don't leer at me, boyo. 'Tis some practicin' y'must be doin' this evening before sleepin'."

"Not a leer, Ro. Just amused at your bed head." He grinned at the windshield. "Not looking your normal perfectly done self."

She slid further up in the seat, pushing the cape away and rearranging it around herself. She sniffed with a haughty tilt of her head, and Sam's grin grew.

"Just tell your brother to get two rooms, damn it!"

"When we get there," he relented. "Should be maybe ten minutes."

Sure enough, his memory of the drive when he had hitch-hiked away from the cabin proved correct: the billboards came more often, crowding together, advertising the truck stop and motel. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief as he pulled the town car off the expressway after the Impala and followed it around the curving off-ramp and into the truck stop parking lot.

When they emerged from the cars, they could hear angry, confused voices from over by the bank of gas pumps. Sam and Dean both straightened, automatically turning toward the noise. Rowena snorted and tugged on Sam's sleeve. "Y'two are like addicts when it comes to trouble. Ignore it, and let's be gettin' -"

A woman's voice rose over the babble, fear and raw anguish echoing in her voice. "Oh, God, oh, God, why won't any of you _help_ us?! Emmy! Emmy, baby - !"

At that, Sam brushed off Rowena's hand, and he and Dean were running toward the small crowd. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Rowena close her eyes and shake her head. He'd be amused, but the voices answering the woman's plea had taken on an ugly, worrisome tone: trouble was definitely brewing.

As they approached the gas pumps and could see what the crowd was gathered around, Dean came to an abrupt halt. Sam barely stopped in time, and reached out to Dean's shoulders to steady himself.

"Ahhh, _shit_." Dean's voice was sad, resigned, angry all at once.

In the center of a circle of perhaps nine men - truckers in flannel with down vests, a man in a suit and overcoat, a pair of young men in winter sports outfits - a woman was crouched over on the pavement, simultaneously trying to restrain and comfort her toddler. The little girl, who couldn't be more than three, had soft brunette curls framing her chubby face, which was clenched in a grimace of rage. She growled, hissed, bit at the arms holding her tight, scratched at the mother's tear-streaked, fearful, desperate face bent above hers. The contrast between her savage face and her puffy pink Dora the Explorer jacket was jarring.

One of the truckers had a shotgun held halfway up; he looked ready to lift it up at any moment, held back only by the horrified realization that it was just a child.

A child with Croatoan.

Sam groaned, feeling it like a punch in his gut. "Oh God. She's just a baby!"

"Yeah. I gotcha," Dean grated out. "God _damn_!" Dean's hands clenched and unclenched, and Sam knew the helpless confusion he felt. Sam's own hand bit into Dean's shoulder.

"Cas. Maybe Cas can help. You said he's been supercharged by his resurrection - "

The mother screamed. Her child had twisted her head around at a seemingly impossible angle and sunk her teeth deep into the arm curled around her chest, and blood started pouring out through the tear in the mother's coat. A sound that was half-gasp, half-groan rippled through the men surrounding her, and the trucker with the shotgun angled it further up - a child was one thing, but everyone knew by now a bite from a Croat was a death sentence, and an adult was, it seemed, fair game.

"That's torn it!" Dean snarled. Sam shook his shoulder, stepped forward.

"Cas. Call Cas!"

Striding into the circle, Sam called out, "CDC! Everyone _back_!" There were mutters in response, but even the trucker with the shotgun seemed relieved at having someone who claimed authority take control. They moved backward, and Sam crouched down beside the woman, gathering her and her child into his arms. He could hear Dean ordering the onlookers away, using the same CDC cover, but his focus was on Emmy and her mother. Even with his strength and size, he found the child's frenzied struggle hard to contain.

"Please!" the mother gasped, plucking at his arm. "Help her. Please. You're CDC...you _must_ be able to help her, right?" He bit his lip, drew a ragged breath, closed his eyes in despair.

What to do? He could lie, backing the lie with his hope that Cas could do something. It would give her some fleeting relief. Maybe take them with to the bio facility?

 _Yeah. Lock her up, wait for her to go noisily insane, or be eaten by her own daughter. Sounds great. Not!_

The fingers plucked at his arm again, and he opened his eyes to meet hers. She had a wan smile under her tears. "You don't have to say it," she murmured. "There's nothing you can do..." He tightened his arms around her, around Emmy, who was momentarily silent, and she leaned her head against his chest.

A shadow blocked the lights around the pumps. Cas was crouching beside him. His flare of hope died quickly when Cas shook his head, eyes sad. "Sam. I've never encountered this before in a human, and I fear it's beyond me..." He closed his eyes again, sinking his head to rest on the woman's head. "I _can_ do this, however..." Cas touched a pair of gentle fingers to the woman's forehead, and she sighed and relaxed into unconsciousness against Sam. Then he did the same to Emmy, the snarls and growls, which had started up again, subsided, and she melted into her mother's arms.

"Nothing. You can't do a goddamned thing?!" Dean snarled. Cas looked up at him and shook his head, saying nothing. Dean slammed a fist against his thigh. "What goddamn _use_ are you, then?!" he snarled. Cas still said nothing, but flinched as if Dean had slapped him.

Sam just pulled the two in his arms tighter. In his other-sight, he could see the sickly green glow of the disease crawling up the mother's arm from the bite, and enveloping the child, threaded through and through the blue glow of her soul. He wanted to lift his head and howl at the heavens, that something this horrible could happen to innocent people. He wanted to throw things.

He wanted to burn it all down.

With that thought, his power leapt up. He strove to stuff the anger down, to remember Rowena's tutelage on control, but the rage at the injustice of it all grew and blossomed, and the power began pushing outward, testing his bounds. Alarmed, he waved one arm at them, choking out, " _Back_! Get back! I can't control it!" Dean scrambled backwards, eyes wide, and pulled Cas with him.

A gentle hand on his arm, a soft voice: "Giant. Listen to me." Rowena. He looked at her wildly, feeling the power flare higher with every beat of his heart. " _O cuisle._ Focus. Concentrate. _Aim_ the power - at something, anything. Don't let it out of your control!" He blinked, nodded stiffly. She was right: if he let it loose with no target, here among the gas pumps was a bad place to be. He could see the flames licking around his body, could imagine them caressing the pumps and working their way inward to the flammable gas -

 _No. Not there! That's all we need - !_

His eyes darted around, looking for a safe outlet, a spot to dump the power. There was nothing. He was beginning to feel frantic, fearing what his power, uncontrolled, could do.

A soft sigh and movement in his arms dragged his eyes down to the woman and child, to the gangrenous green glow of the disease, and, in a spate of anger and horror, he reached for one of the filaments entangled in Emmy's soul. He pulled it outward and fed every atom of his will at it, not thinking, just searching for a release. His hands, wreathed with flame, touched the immaterial glowing green thread, and it blackened, shriveled. His fingers followed it, pulling more tangled threads outward, burning them as he moved. He focused grimly, following each skein, baring his teeth in grim triumph every time a larger coiled knot burst into flame and then turned to ash that only he could see drifting on the chill late-winter breeze.

"Yes, Samuel, that's right - whatever you're doin', you just keep doin' that, boyo," Rowena crooned. Her voice was distant, hard to hear in the roiling crackle of the fire and the intense focus that held him in a hypnotic trance. Her hands were firm on his shoulders, and he used that steadiness as an anchor to keep him tied to the real world as his other-sight swallowed his vision and all he could see was flame and sickening green webwork and ashes.

An unknown time later, the power began ebbing, almost extinguished, but not quite. All the glowing threads were gone, but he still needed a target. He felt around blindly, then found another thread, began following it.

The last bit of flame sputtered out, the last bit of power with it, and this was good, because there were no more threads to focus on. He held his shaking hands before his face and stared dully at them for a moment, then transferred his gaze to the blur in his normal vision that was Rowena. He could feel sweat pouring down his face, freezing in the breeze, feel it trickle down between his shoulder blades underneath his jacket, Henley, undershirt, plastering them to his skin. Swaying, he reached out to grasp Rowena's hands, which were patting at his face.

"I didn't hurt anyone," he said. His voice was shaking, too, and sounded creaky and ancient. "Right? Nothing's on fire?"

"Nothin' is on fire; you found something to aim at, but I have no idea what - you just kept wiggling your hands in front of you, twistin' and a-turnin' them. Good lad, you found a focus..." Her voice faded away from him. All he could think was how thankful he was that no-one was hurt, as his arms dropped away from child and mother and he slid down to the concrete, every bone in his body aching with weariness.

* * *

Dean stared down at his brother sprawled on the pavement, at the woman, the child, Rowena. "What the hell?" he said. He dropped down by Sam, pulled him into his arms. "Sam. Dude! Are you all right?!" It had been so damned weird: Sam sitting there holding the two Croats, hands held before him dripping flame, fingers twisting and pinching and pulling at God knew what. He glared at Rowena. "What the hell _was_ that?!"

She rocked back on her heels and looked at him across Sam's unconscious form. "Well. Och, he is very strong!" She glanced down at him with a tiny, proud smile. "See here, Winchester: your brother was...filled with rage. And the power, it feeds on emotion, which is why so much of the trainin' for folk with the power in-born concentrates on control. He needed an outlet, because if he didn't find one - " She gestured around them, at the gas pumps and vehicles. "Well. He'd use what was available. And... _Boom_!" Dean blinked at her.

 _Oh. Oh, shit. Stupid fucking psychic powers! All it does -_

He finished the thought out loud. "All his power seems to be good for is making trouble for him! And us," he added sourly. "So what _was_ he doing?"

Rowena shrugged. "No idea. He found _something_ to do with it, though, and thanks be to the gods for that!" Looking around at the Many Very Flammable Things that surrounded them, Dean felt he had to agree. It rankled, agreeing with the witch.

"And how long is he gonna be out? Seems like this psychic shit knocks him out every time he uses it."

Touching Sam with a gentle finger, Rowena shrugged again and smiled softly. "Again, hero, I haven't the foggiest. He was very angry."

While they had been talking, Cas had straightened Sam out - his legs had been folded up in an uncomfortable position - and then started doing the same for the two Croats. Dean watched him with a glum expression. "Great. Now what do we do with those two? I mean, Sam, Cas can blink him into whatever motel room we get, but those two? We need to do something about them before Cas's hoodoo wears off." Keeping a full-blown Croat - no matter how small - around their group, and a second person slowly succumbing to the virus, was a damned bad idea.

Cas, now crouched down by the woman, glanced up at him, his face perplexed. "It seems to have worn off already. And - " The woman stirred, sighed, turned on her side, and cuddled the child. Cas watched, then continued, his voice soft, " - and I can feel no trace of sickness now."

 _No trace - ? What does that mean?!_

Looking from Cas to Rowena, then back again, he said, "Just what exactly are you saying here, buddy?"

Cas's hands, dangling between his crouching knees, made a vague shrugging motion. He peered intently at the two before him. "What I am saying, Dean..." He paused and looked up. "...is that, somehow, Sam seems to have cured them."

The silence after that stretched on and on, until Dean said, softly, "Son of a bitch!"


	17. Fallen On Black Days (Soundgarden)

He was so hungry now. And angry.

When it all started...It had been an ordinary day, just like all the ones before it, and like he had expected all the ones to come to be. He had been flirting with the nice blonde suburban mom, and then he had looked into her eyes...

Into a cold, depthless eternity.

Before he had a chance to react, she had smiled, touched his shoulder, said, "Yes. You'll do very well." And his nightmare started.

Without warning he had been standing in a chilly gray alleyway with her, and she had pushed him at a gang of zombies. There had been pain and growling and slashing, and blood everywhere. Somehow, the zombies had fled, and he was left with her, and her deep, dead eyes, and her smile.

He just wanted to be back at the Starbuck's, filling people's orders, listening to old alternative music, mopping floors, checking the freezer, stocking coffee. But first there was Hollywood, and her murmuring in his ear, "Good boy, just breathe...maybe sneeze a few times." A crowded mall in - Beijing, he thought. She had pierced the skin of his arm with her fingernails, and then gaily led him through the pushing, shoving throngs, touching people they passed, lightly, quickly, leaving small streaks and spatters of his blood.

The first night, in a hotel room in London - he didn't want to remember it. But he couldn't forget it; somehow just seeing those brown eyes with nothing behind them would bring the memory of her with him, the bed, sex, and then, just as he reached orgasm, she had plunged an ice-cold hand _inside_ him, pulled out his beating heart and laid it on his chest, wiggled a few times on his dick,

and then thrown her head back, hissing and laughing -

No, he didn't want to remember that.

She had put his heart back in.

Surely it had just been a nightmare.

Riyadh. Rio de Janiero. Mumbai. Mexico City. Moscow, Paris, the Vatican, Tel Aviv. He never knew where they were, but she would sing the name out, and pull him through the crowds.

When he started coughing and sneezing, she grinned, spun him around, kissed him, and they began hitting more and more cities, faster and faster, until his head whirled. He knew she was using him to spread the sickness.

He tried to run, once. He plunged into the thickest part of the crowds in whatever city they were in, and just started running, head down, sobbing, drained and dizzy and blind with fear.

She had found him, of course.

Pouting, she had said, "Oh, baby boy! We're just getting started! Don't you want to have _fun_ with me?!" She had caught his chin with those cold hands, fingernails digging in, and pulled his head up so that his eyes were drawn to hers. Then darkness. He woke up in another hotel room, buried in her flesh, and that time, she had pulled out his intestines, draping them around the bed, as she continued moving against him. Somehow, some way, she had kept him aroused through all the pain and the blood. He screamed, but she just smiled and said, "No one can hear you, baby boy, just you and me. But we'll leave the blood for the maids to clean up, isn't that a smart idea?" Then he had come, and she had come, and his intestines pulsed and glistening and smeared blood about them both. She had buried her hands in the squirming pile of guts, then lifted them up to her lips and lapped at the scarlet liquid like a dainty cat, grinning at him.

Another nightmare.

Surely.

That was...a while back. He thought. He couldn't really tell any more; the days blurred together in a hellish melange. But now he was awake, in yet another room, and his body was wracked with shivers, his mind fuzzy. He couldn't think; he was just hungry.

So hungry _._

She was sitting next to him, her arm by his, and all he could think about was how the blood pulsed just beneath the skin at her elbow. He could see it, the blue tracery of the vein, beating with her heart. The smell was...oh, God, he was _so hungry_! She smelled like meat. His mouth started watering. She said something, but it was just a distant, annoying buzz. Waving it away with a clumsy arm, his hand fall on hers and the _hunger_ surged up. He grabbed the hand, yanked the arm up to his mouth, opening it so he could take a bite, satisfy that grinding, aching, boundless _hunger_ -

He couldn't move.

She peered at him. He tried to look away, but she froze his eyes, too, so all he could see was her own cold eyes, with the eternity of darkness behind them.

"Oh, my. Well, it had to happen. You've held out a long time, but our little spree is over with. Time to let my little biological vector go. Boo hoo. I've had _so_ much fun with you!" She pointed at the door. "Off you go, baby boy!"

He was still frozen, but his hands dropped her arm, his body moved to the door. He watched as his hand opened the door. He watched as he walked down the hall. He watched as his finger punched the button for the elevator. He watched as the doors opened before him.

Someone stood in the elevator.

A teenage girl. Just a little younger than him, what was left of his rational mind noted.

The smell of her overwhelmed him, called to him, stoked the hunger. It was a light floral scent, accenting the mouth-watering, rolling wave of _meat_ smell. His feet moved him in, the door closed. The iron, alien control over his body melted away.

 _Damnit, girl, why the_ _ **fuck**_ _are you here?!_

Anger surged up again, and he leaped on her, growling, ripping, tearing.

Finally, finally, there was _food_.

* * *

 _Not again..._

Sam woke. His head pounded, he could taste the old sneaker flavor of his dry mouth, and when he tried to open his eyes, the lids were glued shut.

 _This is getting old._

He scrubbed at his eyes with his fists, digging the sleep out from the corners, and pried them open as he slid upwards to sprawl awkwardly against the pile of pillows behind him.

Sunlight. A wall of windows. Rowena curled up in a chair, her dark red curls outlined by the light. She concentrated on a tablet, nibbling at her lips, reaching out a dainty finger to scroll every few moments. Watching her read, he felt a surge of wry fondness. But still...

 _This is_ _ **really**_ _getting old._

He pulled himself up further. "How long - " He stopped, appalled at the croak that emerged. Rowena started, dropped her tablet, and looked at him warily.

"There's water." She nodded her head at the side of the bed; looking at the bedside table there, he found the water, and gulped it down.

"How long this time?" He managed to get out. There was a pitcher on the table; he refilled the glass, gulped it down again, and refilled it a second time.

Leaning back, she clasped her hands on the tablet and heaved a sigh. "Well. Many a day. Again. Two? Three?" She pursed her lips, frowned, and seemed to be calculating time for a moment, then nodded. "No, four days."

"I can't keep doing this, Ro." Frowning, he scrubbed his fists up and down the comforter that swaddled him. "Every time I use the power - "

"Pssshhht! 'Use the power' - " She flung her hands up. "That was a use of the power that is not...normal. Use that much, that strongly - well, it's no surprise a raw apprentice new to the power should be knackered by it."

'Raw apprentice'. That stung. He thought back, trying to remember. He remembered the scene in the gas station. The mother and child, struck by Croatoan. He remembered being so angry, so anguished, holding them in his arms, wanting to find a way to turn back time to before they were infected, feeling his power spiral out of control, fueled by his emotion. But beyond that...? He thumped the comforter with his fist. He must have done something, but _what_?

"'That much, that strongly'. So tell me just what I _did_ , because I don't remember!" His voice rose in frustration.

Rowena stood up, laid the tablet aside, and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Frowning over at him, she said, "So you don't know what you did?"

"Didn't I just say that?!" he snapped.

She rolled her eyes. "Och. Dinna be such a frashin' child. Tell me what you _do_ remember."

Focusing into space over her shoulder, he said, slowly, "I remember the mom and kid...Croatoan. I was angry. And the power jumped up, and you told me I had to do something with it or else..." He paused, thinking back. "Or else I might blow up the gas station...?" She nodded. Lifting a hand, he waved it aimlessly. "Then...nothing. That's the last thing I remember."

She watched him for a moment, quiet. Then she sighed. "You did a wondrous thing, _o cuisle_. Your hands were dripping with...well, it looked like flame, but obviously wasn't, because the gas pumps did _not_ explode." She gave him a wry grin. "And you were pluckin' at the air around them, covered them with the flame-like stuff. Then you fell over like a tree fallin', clunked your head on the concrete, and the woman and her bairn were asleep, and...healed." She paused and peered at him, waiting.

"Healed?" A puzzled frown flitted across his face.

"Your brother's pretty angel boy checked. Not a bit of Croatoan left. You had burned it all out of them."

He blinked at her for a moment, not comprehending. Then it sank in; his jaw dropped as a surge of wild joy pulsed through his body. He leaned forward to grasp her shoulders, shaking her lightly. " _Healed_! I _healed_ Croatoan! Do you know what that means?!" Focusing over her shoulder, he let hope soar at the possibilities. "We have to go out, I have to get to work, I have to _help_ people - " Without thinking, he had already swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ready to race out of the room and do what needed to be done, but Rowena's hands were holding him in place, not letting him go.

"Och, aye, to be sure! You and what army, pray tell?" Her voice was tart.

It hit him like a splash of ice water, and he focused back on her, puzzled, a bit angry. "What? What're you talking about? There are people who need _help_ out there, Ro, they're killing and dying and - "

"And there are _millions_ of them."

The words stopped him. She went on, "Millions. So very many sick people out there. You're a strong, brave lad with power to spare, aye. But healing just _two people_ left you limp as a newborn kitten for days, snorin' your pretty head off in this very bed, right here." Her eyes locked on his. "You would need oh so much more power to do what you want to do. You would need the power of - oh, an archangel, that might be enough. Might not."

Her green eyes held his, her voice was sympathetic. Her words coiled around his joy, strangling it bit by bit until all that was left was cold ashes. He sagged, his heart aching, and his jaw clenched in despair, one side of his lips twitching downward. He wanted to scream. He wanted to weep. He wanted to rail angrily at God, who would allow such fierce hope one moment, only to yank it away the next. He wanted to punch something.

He turned away from those sympathetic eyes to stare blindly out the wall of windows, saying nothing.

Rowena's small hands patted his shoulders gently, then slid down his arms. "I know that's not what you're wantin' to hear, giant. But it has to be said, or you would run out there and kill yourself tryin' to fix things. And you can't."

He croaked out a bitter laugh. "What good is it, then? This power? This ability? If I can't do a god-damned useful thing with it?" Thumping a fist against his thigh, he glared back at her. "What _fucking good is it_?" he snarled.

She reached up one hand to stroke his hair back behind an ear, patting it into place. He jerked his head away from the gentle touch, rejecting it. She sighed. "Good? 'Tis neither good nor bad, giant. It just _is_. It's what you do with it that makes it good, or bad, or nothing whatsoever."

He didn't want to listen, to hear. A childish urge to place his hands over his ears, to block her words out, swept through him. Turning away, he let his hands drop, and curled on his side on the bed. "Go away."

"Ach, well - "

"I _said_ , 'Go _away_!'" he gritted out.

She sighed again, then he felt the bed shift as she stood up. He heard her walk away. There was a pause, as if she had stopped to say something, then, without a word, she slipped out the door, losing it quietly behind herself.

He squeezed his eyes closed, grieving.

 _So close. I thought I could save them all. So damned close._

A tear oozed out from beneath his clenched eyelids. He clenched his jaw, threw his forearm across his eyes, and tried to shut out the world.

It didn't work. All he could think about was the teen in the cheerleading outfit being dragged along beside the towncar, her face twisted in a feral grimace, her clothes spattered with dirt and blood.

After a long while, he fell asleep again.

* * *

Davis puttered in the small commercial kitchen attached to the dining area originally intended for the workers in the building. Now it was his domain; now it fed their small cohort. Well. _He_ fed the small cohort. A small, pleased smile flitted across his face. It made him feel useful, accomplished, doing his small part to try to stem the disease rampaging through humans and demons alike.

His shopping spree through Sioux City had taken a day. Then he had hired a minor army of fresh-faced young South Dakota men and women to sweep through the building under his guidance, delivering furniture, setting it up, putting up drapes and linens and artwork, moving equipment and food into the kitchen. He had to admit, though it was _simpler_ to do it using his currently forbidden demon power, it had been quite satisfying to chivvy them around and watch his visions come to fruition. At the end of that day, he had guided Master Fergus and Miss Dani up to the suite in the top floor, opened up the door with...not a flourish, but with pride.

Crowley had let a satisfied smile slip loose as he walked into the former executive office, now turned into a rather good imitation of his bedroom suite in the Manhattan condo. Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, burgundy drapes cloaked the wall of windows, a Persian carpet covered the bland oatmeal carpeting of the suite.

He had heard the tiniest of disappointed sighs from Miss Dani.

"If I may, Miss Dani...?" He had gestured at the door to the attached room, once a conference room. This time...well. It might actually have been a flourish; he didn't like to indulge himself that way, but he couldn't resist as he opened the door and ushered her in. Her louder sigh of relief gratified him; he had worked hard on the contrast. Where Crowley's temporary abode was dark, masculine, Miss Dani's room was light. Instead of mahogany, there was clear pine; instead of dark drapes, hers were in bright primary colors. He had scoured the more eccentric stores in Sioux City and collected Day of the Dead skulls, fabulous papier-mâché figurines painted in vibrant designs; and on the walls were prints from some of her favorite artists.

That small triumph had satisfied him the most of all.

He hummed as he chopped vegetables for the day's dinner. The demon infectious disease specialists and epidemiologists were settled in their lab, they had bunk rooms, and they were hungry.

And he was keeping it all moving smoothly.

Well. Except for Dr. Gorskon. His mouth pursed in distaste. Most of the specialists were eminently forgettable: eager to please Crowley, terrified of how Croatoan was sweeping through both humans and demons, ready to do what they could. Gorskon, on the other hand, was simply a boor, sneering at everyone and everything, proclaiming his expertise, running lecherous eyes up and down the bodies of the female demons and humans in their group. And, so far as Davis could see - though, admittedly, he was no expert on medical labs - not really contributing anything.

He chopped viciously hard through the celery on the cutting board, his eyes absently flashing beetle black.

The sound of the hall door opening distracted him. Ah. The younger Winchester brother, finally emerging from his days-long power hangover. Looking haggard and angry. Probably hungry.

He nodded at him, pointed with his chopping knife at the refrigerator nearest him. "Mr. Winchester. There are a variety of sliced meats, bread, condiments in there, if you would like a sandwich. Also various chilled drinks." The tall man nodded back, grunted acknowledgement, and opened the refrigerator door, peering in. After a moment's thought, he emerged with a handful of sandwich makings and busied himself at the other end of the long prep table. Davis dismissed him from his mind, continuing his work with the vegetables.

* * *

Sam watched Davis working while he wolfed down the first sandwich and made another. Davis moved on from chopping to doing something with a pair of what looked like tarts. The kitchen was peaceful and quiet, and it was nice to be around another person (even though he was a demon). Coming down here had been a way to escape his thoughts, and now that he had calmed down he was somewhat ashamed of shouting at Rowena. It wasn't her fault.

It wasn't his fault, either. As she had said, it just _was_.

Like so much that he and Dean did.

He sighed and stared morosely down at his sandwich. He was still hungry; he was starving, in fact, but even so he suddenly had little appetite for more. The world was collapsing into death and disarray, they supposedly had a group to try to counter it, and he could do _nothing_.

He lifted the sandwich for another bite, letting his eyes slide into the othersight, tracing the electric wiring that outlined the kitchen. The golden light etching along the countertop led him to Davis's form. In the othersight, his soul was a surprising steel gray, with the typical demon ebony webwork and knots of black overlying. He chewed absently, pondering the question of why Davis was not black, nor burgundy. He turned it over in his mind, aware it was just an attempt to ignore his misery -

The swinging doors to the dining area slammed open. He jumped, hand spasming open, spilling his sandwich into a mess on the counter.

A tall, bulky man swaggered in, swarthy face, big nose...and black smoke swirling around his form, with demon webwork visible to Sam's othersight.

 _Ah. One of Crowley's doctors._

"Fuckin' bunch of pussies pissing their pants!" the man snarled, striding up to the counter. He slammed a meaty fist down before Davis. "You. Gimme a sandwich."

Davis give him a slight, tight smile and murmured, "Of course, Dr. Gorskon. There are a variety of sliced meats, bread, condiments in that refrigerator, if you would like a sandwich. Also various drinks if you would like one."

A meaty hand shot out, grabbed Davis by the collar to pull him forward, and the big head leaned down to his. "I didn't say I wanted to _make_ a sandwich, you cuck. I said, _gimme a sandwich_. Now, you pansy-ass fuckwad!" Sam watched Davis's fingers clench hard enough on the knife he was holding that the skin turned white.

"Of course, sir." Davis's voice was toneless. The big man shook him, then dropped him, sneering. Davis moved to the refrigerator, and Sam could see his eyes shining beetle black, his mouth twisted with distaste.

"See? Pansy-ass, like all the rest of them." Gorskon turned away, and caught Sam looking at him. "Feh! What're _you_ looking at?"

Sam debated saying something that would probably start a fight. Instead, he shrugged, and turned back to his sandwich, beginning to pick up the met and veggies strewn across the counter. "Nothing." He thought he had kept his voice even and non-provoking, but Gorskon swaggered across the kitchen to loom over him.

"Nothing, huh? Aren't you one of the ooh-scary Winchester brothers, the one that's been sick?" He suddenly had a knife in his hand. "Demon killer? Gonna try to kill _me_ , asshole?"

Sam put his sandwich down and stood up slowly, reaching for the demon knife sheathed at his back. Standing, he was as tall as Gorskon, and just as broad-shouldered. But he was in much better shape, had, he was sure, a better reaction time, and knew he could take down this demon bully. He just stood there, face to face with Gorskon, saying nothing, face still. If the "doctor" was anything like any of the other bullies he had encountered in his life, just a show of quiet defiance would either make him back down, or provoke his insecurities, prompting an attack. He was now ready for either.

In the background, he could see Davis back at his station, sandwich makings handy, watching cautiously with beetle-black eyes, hand now on his cleaver, coiled and waiting.

Gorskon stepped forward into his personal space, lip curled. Sam shifted his weight in a way that any brawler would recognize. The air between them was tense and charged, everything swaying in the balance. Then Gorskon spun on his heels and strode back to Davis. Sam released the breath he had been holding, tilted his head to one side, then the other, and began to relax. That had been close.

 _Welp. Guess I'll have to keep an eye on that one..._

"Pansy-ass runaway king who can't use his powers - probably doesn't even have them - fucking Hunters, wussy little servants like you, a buncha stupid pretend doctors fiddling around playing at making a vaccine...the only decent thing is the women. I like that redheaded witch..." He grinned at Sam, knowing full well he was pushing his luck, then went on, "The other redhead dyke could use a good fucking, too." He mimed thrusting his pelvis a few times. "But I'm just sick of ol' Crowley's smarmy ways and fucking acting like he's so much better than everyone - " Well. Sam could sympathize with _that_ sentiment. " - and keeping that cute snotty little piece of ass to himself when he hasn't got a lick of power - "

Davis stiffened.

The movement caught Gorskon's eyes. He turned and snarled, "What's the matter with you, you prick?! How long does it take even a dimwit like you to make a fucking sandwich?!" The tarts Davis had been working on grabbed his attention, and he reached for one. "I'll take this, too, looks kinda tasty - "

A chef's knife pinned his hand to the counter. Gorskon roared in pain. Sam hadn't even seen Davis move. "I am so sorry, Dr. Gorskon, but those tarts are reserved for Crowley and Miss Dani." Davis's voice and face were bland and smooth as he leaned slightly on the haft of the knife, but the angry beetle black of his eyes was no longer hidden. Gorskon growled and flashed black in response, tearing his hand loose from the blade, trailing blood, and reaching for Davis's neck.

"You little weasel, I'm gonna pop that tiny head of yours like a fucking pimple!"

Sam ran forward, demon knife at the ready. Not only was Davis, so far as he could tell, one of the "good" demons, and generally friendly and efficient, Sam had had enough of this Gorskon asshole. It had been a long time since he took such an instant and overwhelming dislike of someone. Gorskon was obviously itching for a fight, and needed to pick on someone his own size. The only person here fitting that description was one Sam Winchester.

But he wasn't needed. With a flick of his hand, Davis sent the big man crashing across the kitchen to hang pinned against the wall. Sam gaped. Gorskon's mouth moved, but no words came out; it seemed Davis was silencing him.

Davis calmly untied his apron, folded it, and laid it on the counter, never taking his focus off Gorskon. Then he walked around the counter towards Gorskon, raising his hands.

Then everything went sideways. A wild-eyed demon popped into the kitchen with a soft poof of air, and made a beeline for Davis, snarling, drooling, reaching out with hands bent into claws. Sam stepped in front of him, warding off a disorganized power blast with one hand, and stuck his knife in the demon's gut. While he listened to the sputter and sizzle of demon death, he heard two more rapid-fire pops of growling, crazed demons appearing. As he swiveled to face one, he heard still more appearing.

"What the hell - ?" he gasped.

Davis was beside him, knife in hand, fighting off another. "I do apologize, Mr. Winchester. I was overcome and forgot that the Croat demons - " He paused, slashing through one of the demon's necks, then continued breathlessly, " - are somehow attuned to His Majesty's closest advisors - " Sam's silver knife slid into the back of another demon at the same time that Davis plunged his knife in from the front. "And the demon variant of the disease seems to include - " They were back to back now, fighting off more Croats. " - an overpowering desire to find and kill the king," Davis concluded.

There as a pause in the parade of incoming demons, and Davis spun, threw a bolt of power at Gorskon to knock him out, then turned back.

"The power trail will fade fairly quickly, and they will stop coming."

Sam grunted. "Huh. Good to know." He was beginning to feel winded. Four days in bed seemed to have severely depleted his reserves, and his arms felt like leaden weights. These damned demon Croats needed to stop appearing real soon now, or they were in trouble.


	18. The End Of The World As We Know It (REM)

Charlie was cross-legged on her bed, laptop open in front of her. Dani sat slouched down in the room's guest chair, legs stretched out and ankles crossed, feet resting on the end of Charlie's bed. She had Charlie's Hermione bobblehead in her hands, and was idly flipping a finger to make the oversized head dance and bounce.

"Thanks for the refuge, Chaz; I couldn't take any more of that creep."

Charlie shuddered. "Ugh. Who _could_?! _Such_ a sleaze! You lasted longer than me, y'know, just being around him gives me that ants crawling all over your body feeling - besides, they don't need us in there now that all the lab equipment is in and set up - all they want is someone to keep track of lab reports and anyone can do that!"

Dani snorted. "Yeah, well. Being asked to get coffee by one of those docs was the last straw."

Jaw dropping, Charlie said, "Oh. My. God. They didn't!"

"Yup."

"Assholes."

"Yup." Dani saluted her with the figurine. "'Hey, Dani, could you grab us some joe?' At which point, I told them all off, slid past Gorskon's leer and grabby hands, and came here."

"Good for you!"

Dropping her head back onto the chair back and closing her eyes, Dani sighed. After a long silence, she murmured, "I guess we should check out the news.."

"Ugh." Charlie sighed, too, then slid the laptop closer, clicked on a website.

" - reports of massive riots in Venezuela, as rumors spread that the zombie disease is sweeping through government offices - "

Dani sat forward, frowning. Charlie punched up another news site.

"Out of control fires in Moscow today as more people torched the houses of neighbors accused of being hidden zombies - "

Dani shuddered. Charlie sighed again, dragged a hand through her hair, then pulled up the BBC.

" - Council meeting at the UN about the worldwide zombie panic degenerated into a verbal _and_ physical brawl today - "

She slammed the laptop shut and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God, Dani, it's all so awful! It just keeps getting worse and worse and _worse_ , and I feel like we're just spinning our wheels doing nothing at all, and - and no-one is doing anything to stop it!"

"Hey." Sliding over to sit on the bed beside her, Dani pulled her into her arms. Charlie leaned into her and sniffled, grateful for the comfort. "Hey. Look. You know people are working on it, not just us. The dudes in the lab may be sexist pigs, but they're working hard, too - knowing you're going to die too is a pretty big motivation, y'know."

Charlie sniffed again. "But the way it's spreading all over, so fast. I thought the quarantines were supposed to stop that. And they aren't. Darn it, Dani, it's like a stupid disaster movie, and I keep waiting for reports of - of roving bands of survivalists in heavy metal junked-together war machines and stuff like that!" She let out a watery chuckle. "Would I be Furiosa or would you?"

Dani snorted. "Not me! Too much action for me. But, yeah, the spread is...it worries me." She scooched back to her chair. The side of Charlie's body that had been comfortingly snuggled now chilled quickly.

"It's almost like there's a terrorist group flying all over the world - " Charlie stopped at the thought, horrified, eyes wide. "You...you don't think someone would be that crazy, do you?"

Dani just looked at her, cocking a skeptical eyebrow. "Yo. Demon here. Humans are crazy even _before_ they become demons. Yes, I _do_ think someone would be that crazy. But it would take a coordinated effort..." She trailed off, staring into space with a frown. Charlie waited for her to continue, but she stayed silent. After a long pause, she surged out of her chair. "I need to think a bit." Before Charlie could stop her, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Charlie stared, open-mouthed, at the door. Then she sighed again. Setting Hermione upright on the bedside table, she gave her a decisive nod. "Well! While she's doing that, I think I'll talk to Doli." She called out, "Doli!", and waited. A few minutes later, she called again. "Doli!"

After five minutes passed, she bit her lips, shook her head, and re-opened the laptop, a small frown puckering the skin between her eyebrows.

* * *

Dani walked down the hallway buried in thought about the news reports.

 _Charlie's right. How on earth did it spring up in so many different spots, all around the world, so quickly?_

 _~~there's a vector...~~_

 _Yes, I know that, teach your grandma to suck eggs, do. But_ _ **what**_ _vector? Not a terrorist group, no..._

 _~~...Lucifer?...~_

She chewed on that idea as she walked, remembering the terrified woman who had hosted Crowley's newborn soul. Who she and Crowley now knew was Lucifer's vessel. Who had lasted a uncannily long time holding an archangel's grace with no physical degradation. Special in some way, obviously.

 _Why did I let her go? Did...we...do this? Our fault?_

 _~~"our" fault? you're the one driving this body, babe, or hadn't you noticed? but...maybe?...god, that would suck dead toads...~~_

Dani snorted in bitter amusement as she brushed by the man walking in the opposite direction, without even registering who it was. She was yanked into the present when he snagged her arm as she passed, swinging her around to end up with her back against the wall.

Crowley. "Not even a hello, Dani-girl?" He sounded piqued.

"Oh!" She thought about explaining, but he moved towards her, his possessive mouth came down on hers, forcing her lips open, and she melted into him, gasping at the rapid rise of heat and desire that swept through her body. His hand tugged at her t-shirt, pushing it up, then pushing up her bra, expert fingers rolling circles about her suddenly hard nipples, first one, then the other.

 _~~whoa!~_

 _Shut up, Innie-Me. Go away._

"Hallway!" she murmured against his mouth. "Anyone could come along - "

His other hand reached down the back of her jeans. She could feel his lips twitching in a grin against her skin as he nuzzled. "Much more fun that way, pet." The hand moved from the back to the front, and somehow they had switched positions, with Crowley in back, leaning against the wall, her in front facing outward, her t-shirt bunched up under her arms, the cool air of the hallway sliding over her bare breasts in tandem with his hand. A pair of fingers wiggled their way into her cunt, and she arched her back into him, her head falling back onto his shoulder.

"God _damnit_ , you perverted bastard!" she hissed. He was right, though: the feeling of nervous alertness blended with her desire, lending it a touch of "forbidden" flavor, accentuating the sensations. She _wanted_ him. Now. She rolled her bottom against his crotch behind her, loving the feeling of his hard dick, wanting more. He was thrusting the fingers in deep, with a steady rhythm, his thumb caressing her clit in time with the thrusts. He nipped at the earlobe nearest his mouth, and it combined with all the other sensations to bring her closer and closer to climax. Every nerve in her body was on fire.

He froze, hands stopping in place.

He lifted his head, looking into the distance.

" _Bollocks!_ "

She felt it, too: a familiar taste of demon power flaring, lighting up her awareness like a beacon. After so many days of curtailing her power it was stunning how sharp and directional it was; she knew exactly where. But who...?

"Davis?!"

"Yes." He pulled his hands out, and she whimpered as he tugged her bra and t-shirt back down and gave her an absent-minded kiss on the neck. But: more power flares, pop, pop pop pop, and, oh, Lucifer, that meant rabid demons homing in on Davis. Crowley sucked on his fingers and winked at her, but it was half-hearted; he was paying attention to the scene downstairs.

"Flit?" she asked.

He frowned, then shook his head, grabbing her hand to drag her with him as he strode, faster and faster, down the hallway to the stairs. He drew his angel blade from its sheath with his other hand. "Can't. It would just bring more of them."

They plummeted down the stairs.

 _Oh lord, Davis, what in hell made you use your power?_

 _~~is he going to be okay?!~~_

She didn't answer. She _hoped_ he was.

 _~~too bad he couldn't have waited just a few more minutes...~~_

Innie-Me sounded wistful, and flashed a brief visual of them fanning themselves with papers. Dani snickered at the image as she swung around a landing and barreled down the next flight. Crowley had dropped her hand at some point, and was a flight ahead of her by now.

 _Davis, you'd_ _ **better**_ _be okay, or I'm going to_ _ **kill**_ _you!_

* * *

Two down, three more to go. There was blood everywhere. Another growling, shambling demon popped into existence, and Sam revised his count: _four_ more to go. At least the appearances seemed to be slowing down, and at least they were mindless, no strategy or thought going into their attacks.

On the other hand, they were also mindlessly relentless.

He heard the swinging doors slam open again. All the demon Croats facing him and Davis stiffened, stopped, and swung around as one. He had no idea why they did, but he and Davis wasted no time taking advantage of the change, their knives plunging into two backs in one matching move. At the same time, the man who had joined the fracas - ah, Crowley - stabbed a third, then the fourth, in rapid succession.

As the electrical short-circuit sound of demon death sputtered a last time, silence took its place. Sam staggered back to lean against the wall, whooping for breath.

 _Damnit, like a bloody newborn kitten. Ro was right!_

Crowley looked expressionlessly around at the dead bodies, Gorskon crumpled up on the floor and the blood. Then he fished a snowy white handkerchief from an inner pocket and began wiping the blood from his angel blade, being slow and thorough, focusing on his work. Davis, who had been bent over, hands on his knees, panting, straightened up, and began, "Sir - !"

Crowley flicked a hand at him to stop his words and continued cleaning his blade. His eyes were hooded, but Sam could see the familiar angry burgundy crossroads demon spark flaring in them.

Dani came running in and came to a quick stop behind Crowley. "Davis?! You're covered in - "

Another abrupt flick of Crowley's hand. Dani clamped her mouth shut, a mutinous frown building.

The tense silence grew.

Crowley completed his cleaning task, carefully resheathed the knife in his breast sheath, dropped the bloody handkerchief on the floor, and finally looked at Davis, face still expressionless.

"I'm sure you have a perfectly good explanation for using your powers after I expressly forbade it. And a reason why Dr. Gorskon is unconscious on the floor with what seems to be a knife wound in his hand."

Davis pulled himself straight, blanching. "Sir. I..." He stopped, licked his lips. "I - "

Sam pulled himself away from the wall. "Oh, for god's sake, Crowley, if Davis hadn't knifed him, I would have knocked him out myself; he was being a massive douchebag. Talking about screwing all the ladies - Dani included - and implying you were faking everyone out about your powers..." He added the last deliberately; if Crowley didn't mind that the dick wanted to screw his lady, he'd still be infuriated by the insult to his prowess.

Crowley's heavy-lidded gaze flicked to him, then back to Davis. He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and began rocking thoughtfully on the balls of his feet. Sam relaxed; he knew that pose, knew the danger for Davis had passed. He could see both Dani and Davis relaxing as well, and was amused - he knew it would bother Crowley dreadfully to realize they all recognized the signs that his fury had faded away.

"So the power trail is gone?" Dani asked.

Crowley nodded.

"Good, then - " She darted forward and plucked at Davis's arm. "You're covered in blood. Did any of them scratch you? Are you all right?" She was frowning, her eyes following her hands wiping the blood off his hands and arms. Sam could see a flare of alarm in Crowley's eyes, and was amused again. Davis was obviously important to him.

Davis folded a hand over hers, stopped its movement. "I am quite fine, I assure you, Miss Dani." He had a tiny smile on his face. "A knick or two from knife work is all." He paused, looking around the kitchen with a faint frown. "But my kitchen...all this blood..." He sounded distressed. Crowley pulled a hand out, held it cocked and ready to snap, then stopped with a sour look.

"Bollocks. My apologies, Davis, but I can't just snap it away."

Davis sighed.

 _Maybe I can help...?_

He thought back to his practicing in the cabin, his coaching from Rowena, how he had transported them. Surely he could do the same with an object? He sank into trance state, eyes focused on the splashes and spatters, and... _twisted_...the fabric of reality. The spattered blood - and the discarded handkerchief - vanished. There was a long silence, Crowley, Dani, and Davis all looking at him. He blushed and shrugged. "Just thought I'd give it a try. I think it's all in the cornfield next door. A present for predators."

"Well. Many thanks, young Mr. Winchester," Davis said.

Crowley squinted at Sam with suspicion, then shrugged and strolled over to Gorskon sprawled on the floor. He nudged him with a foot and glanced back at Sam. "So. Sleeping Beauty here was...er...disrespecting my Dani-girl, you said?"

"Among others," Sam said, grimacing. "Like I said: douchebag."

"Ah, well, demons, y'know..." He pulled out his angel blade and again crouched down to shake Gorskon. The big man stirred and muttered. "Wakie wakie, my little plum, my darling," Crowley crooned. An eye cracked open to peer at him. Crowley bared his teeth in a tight grin, waving the tip of his blade in front of the opened eye. "I hear you've been a naughty boy. Perhaps you'd care to explain?"

Gorskon sneered.

"Ah, I see..." Behind his back, Crowley flapped a hand at Sam. Sam frowned, puzzled, then understanding dawned. He thought back to his lessons with Rowena in the warehouse, and carefully extruded tendrils of power, then clamped them down hard on Gorskon's wrists and legs. It was ironic: the last time he had used the power this way was _against_ Crowley, not in support. He pushed the thought away.

Gorskon paled at the feel of the power restraining him.

"Hm. Not so cocky now, eh?" Burgundy flared in Crowley's eyes. "Now. Let me tell you how this is going to go, pet. You will behave yourself around everyone else in our merry little band, and just do your doctoring work. Not one single remark or provocation against anyone, my butler or my Dani-girl in particular. Otherwise..." He made a sudden jab with the blade, stopping it a hair's breadth away from Gorskon's eye. The doctor flinched away. "Otherwise, darling, we'll have ourselves an experimental subject to play around with. There are plenty of newly minted demon docs out there; we can replace you easily enough." He peered thoughtfully at the big man. "Capiche?" Gorskon nodded, one single, sharp jerk of his head. "Excellent." He stood up, slipping his blade back in its sheath. Sam removed the power shackles at the same time, leaving the impression that it was Crowley doing it.

"Now: get out."

Gorskon scrambled to his feet, shot an impartial glare around the room, and stalked out of the kitchen.

* * *

Doli still didn't show after an hour had passed. Finally accepting that she probably wasn't going to, and carefully ignoring the implications behind the Reaper's non-appearance, Charlie pulled up her gaming menu.

After dabbling for a few minutes in Fallout 4, she slapped it closed, shuddering at how closely its premise followed what was going on around the world. She glared at Hermione. "Okay! So! Yeah, we're _not_ in a devastating nuclear war, H., but it's waaay too close to what Dani and I were talking about. Nope, nope, nope-ity nope, no thank you." She peered at her games listing. "Ah. Now, _that_ I can get into. Just a beta still, not released yet, but..." She grinned, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, pulled up her purloined beta version of Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, and dove in.

She had decided to divert Geralt into a Treasure Hunt, hoping for a few new magic spells, and was gathering info from an NPC, when she heard a whisper of air movement. Glancing up, she saw her Reaper friend.

"Doli! You came!" She leaped up from the bed, moving to give her a hug, but stopped in shock at the haggard, weary lines on Doli's face, the gaunt look on her borrowed Navajo cheekbones. "Oh em gee, Doli, you look like hell!"

The Reaper nodded. Then, as Charlie watched, she started flickering between her Navajo seeming and her true appearance. One moment, a short, sturdy, outdoorsy Native American in flannel and blue jeans, coarse back hair cut in a jagged chin-length do, brown eyes bruised with exhaustion; the next, a tall, cadaverous gray being in a hooded brown robe, with long, skeletal fingers trembling with fatigue.

"You called, Charlie. I came." Her voice was rough, stumbling. The cycling between appearances began to speed up. "I am tired. So very tired."

Charlie's hands fluttered with her concern. "Stop. Doli, _stop_. Don't waste energy trying to look good for me, I know what you look like and it doesn't matter - stop!" Doli's Navajo seeming steadied for a moment, a grateful look in her eyes, then dissolved away a final time. Charlie grabbed an arm, pulling the Reaper toward the bed. "You need to sit, rest, take a break - you're just about out on your feet - " The Reaper stood by the bed with a dazed look in its eyes and swayed back and forth. Then it turned its head to look at Charlie.

"So...tired..." With that, the Reaper toppled onto the bed like a tree falling, arms spread wide, face buried in the comforter. "I think...I may...yes, sleep..." Its voice faded with each word, until the last one was barely a breath of sound. The deep-set ebony eyes drifted closed, the long form relaxed, and Charlie realized, with a start, that the Reaper had started snoring.

She hovered over the figure for a few moments more, pulled a blanket over it, then plopped down in the guest chair, eyes wide. "Well! I didn't even know Reapers _could_ sleep, H.!" She watched her friend sleeping, and finally whispered to herself, "It must be _really_ bad out there..."


	19. Kill Your Mama (Alicia Keys)

"This. Is. Bullshit."

Dean glared blackly at the door in front of him. It was an unassuming door, and didn't deserve his glare, he knew that. But, still: it was what was _behind_ the door that made him want to glare, and the door was in the way, so it got the blunt force of his anger.

Sam snorted. Dean shot his glare at him, instead.

"Dean. It is _not_ 'bullshit'." Cas mimed air quotes. "We need to know how the doctors are doing, we need to see if everyone has been keeping track of the news, we need to strategize - "

Dean transferred his black look to Cas.

 _Gee, thanks, buddy. Et tu, Brutus?_

"This is a bloody fucking _status_ _update meeting_ , is what it is! What are we, some sort of corporation?!" he snarled.

"Well, there's enough of us now that we can't just have informal meet-ups in whatever room we happen to be in," Sam said. His soothing, air-of-reason tone did not have the effect he wanted: Dean grabbed his head in his hands and moaned, the sound of a wounded animal. "Oh, stop being dramatic. Just grit your teeth and get through it," Sam added, rolling his eyes.

"I've prepared an agenda," Cas said brightly, pushing a sheaf of papers into Dean's hands.

" _Agenda?!_ " Dean howled. He shook the offending papers under Cas's nose. " _ **Agenda?!**_ " He snarled again, pushed the door open, and stalked in.

"Excellent idea!" Crowley. Damn him. Dean glowered at him. Crowley rapped his knuckles on the ( _Huge! Sonuvabitch!_ ) conference table top in front of him. "Be a darling and pass them out."

Dean slapped them down on the table, grabbed the nearest empty chair, pulled it out, and slouched down in it. Twelve interested pairs of eyes fastened on him, and he felt both annoyed and terrified.

 _Ah, hell. Just get on with it._

He straightened up, grabbed an agenda - _**Agenda!**_ \- from the heap, and pushed it on to the next person. Rowena. Dear God. He started reading, and snorted: at least Cas had put the most important thing first, a progress report from the doctors. The stack of papers were pushed around the table with a shushing sound, each person grabbing one then passing them on.

"Okay! So, let's get this damned thing started. First item on the agenda is an update from the docs. Go for it." He waved a hand in the vague direction of the gaggle of demon doctors, who were fairly interchangeable except for that douchebag Gorskon, who loomed over the rest.

One of them coughed gently, raised his hand. "Ahem. Yes. Well. We've taken numerous samples from the captive and managed to fractionate the plasma and isolate leukocytes. There is a tendency to lymphocytopenia, indicating that, indeed, the demon's meatsuit - "

"Vessel." That was Dani...or Danielle? Didn't really matter: both were pretty hyped on the subject. The doc peered over his glasses at her and blinked.

"Ahem. Vessel...is fighting a serious viral load. We have also isolated some unfamiliar viruses. Both of these - the leukocytes and the viruses themselves - can serve as a source of a somewhat unorthodox, if not old-fashioned, vaccine - "

"Jesus, you pansy-ass fuckers." Gorskon interrupted, sounding weary. The demon doc who had been speaking seemed to shrink in his seat. Gorskon slammed his fist on the table, making it shudder. "Sure, sure, we can fake up some shitty little vaccine, great. For demons, mind you - we need us a human so we can do same-same for humans. What we _need_ is a cure, and a way to manufacture and distribute the god-damned vaccine. Big scale. This is a fucking worldwide disease, not some cocked up measles outbreak in Minnesota." He glowered around the table. "This little pissant 'research facility' ain't gonna make it, y'know. We can inoculate all of _us_ , here, whoop-de-fucking-doo. We need _billions_ of doses. And vaccine manufacturers have their factories in the ass-end of China and India." He ended his rant with a gratuitous, "Assholes."

 _Hunh. He's making sense._

A gloomy silence settled over the table. Dr. Coughy, who had talked first, fidgeted, pulled off his glasses, polished them, put them back on, and said, "Well. Ahem. Dr. Gorskon is essentially correct, most importantly that we need a human subject and we need manufacturing capabilities which we - ahem - lack here..." His voice trailed off. The gloomy silence continued.

"But we _do_ have a cure, now, right, Cas?" Dean said. Half of the people at the table looked up in surprise. Rowena frowned. Sam frowned, too, and shook his head at him.

"Dean - "

"C'mon, Cas, Sam. They need to know." He glanced around the table. "Sam, Sam here, _he_ can cure it, he's healed two people already - " He raised his voice at the end to be heard over the babble.

"Well, la-de-fucking-dah, can we send _him_ as a prototype to the factories?" Gorskon sneered.

"Um..." _Well, shit, not when you put it like that..._

"Och, no!" Rowena. Furious. Scared? "No and no and _NO_! He cannot do it, he healed _two_ people and was wiped out for four - _four!_ \- days as a result!" Rowena's voice rose, and she glared at Sam from across the table. " _O cuisle_ , you can't do more! I forbid it!"

Sam glared back. " _Forbid_ it?!"

At the same time, Crowley jerked as if he had been shot. " _O CUISLE?! O CUISLE?!_ What the freaking hell?!" he roared.

Rowena rounded on him. "Oh, stow your gab, do! As if _you_ have any say in the matter!"

"Wha - ?!" Dean started. He saw Charlie shoot a questioning glance at Dani, who shrugged in confusion.

"I will _NOT_ have the Moose as my freaking _father-in-law_!" Crowley ranted. Dean's jaw dropped. So did Charlie's, and Dani's, and, he was interested to note, Sam's. Everyone else looked confused, except for Davis, standing behind Crowley, who looked as bland as usual.

Rowena tossed her hair. "Och, aye, 'tis not like I'm plannin' on marryin' the lad!" she said tartly. "'Tis just a pet name, Scots for sweetie, the likes of which _you_ use all the time, I might add, with your precious 'Dani-girl'! Furthermore - "

"Enough!" Dean slammed his fist on the table. _Great. Imitating Dr. Gorskon-creep. This is going just ducky._

"You two - " He pointed first at Crowley and then at Rowena. "Take it up some other place, some other time." There was a pause. Then Crowley gave him a tight-lipped nod. Rowena, after a flounce, did the same. "Now: how do we get this vaccine - "

"Look. We need to test it first," Dani said. She scrubbed her face wearily with her palms. "And a human version, too. But...I might have a solution to the manufacturing question." Everyone looked at her. She sighed. "I have...contacts at NSA. From back when I was human. Which wasn't too long ago. They...well, of course they think I'm dead. But I have passwords, counter signs, all that garbage. I could get a sample through, and my contacts would take it seriously."

Gorskon grunted, looking thoughtful. "I was at CDC. My guys might be dead, I'm not a noob like you, but still..."

Dr. Coughy nodded. "Mayo Clinic," he chimed in.

"Sooo...look. What if we were each to deliver samples, plus the right medicalese, to our contacts? At the same time? Do we think that might be enough - ?" Dani said.

The demon docs exchanged looks. Then Coughy said, "I believe that, given six points of contact, all at once..."

Dean rubbed a hand across his chin. "We've got Cas and Sam as magical transport. Any of you docs got the flitting hoodoo?" Four shook their heads, but the last one raised a hand. "Okay, good, so we've got three. We do that. Okay?" He started to get up, but Dani held up a hand to stop him. He sank back down. She pulled her laptop up onto the table, folded her hands on it and frowned down at them, biting her bottom lip.

 _Okay, now what?!_

Everyone waited.

* * *

~ _~you're gonna do it, aren't you?~~_

 _They need to know._

 _~~pb is gonna be_ _ **so**_ _pissed, y'know...~_

 _Too bad._

She sighed and lifted her head. This was going to be hard.

"The disease has suddenly flared up in new cities all over the world. Charlie said to me - " She glanced at Charlie and smiled faintly. " - that it was as if a terrorist cell were spreading it via airplane. So it made me think." She took a deep breath. "We all know the disease was designed by Lucifer and originally released in two places, New York City and Crowley's court. Two different strains. But from all we've heard, Crowley's bug-out strategy worked, and only demons in the court were infected. All other demons seem to be safe...and the ones who have it will be dying out. Hopefully. Besides, we now have, I guess, a vaccine?

"But these new cases...they're all human. And I'm pretty sure it's Lucifer again. All he needed to do was grab an infected human or two and pop into whatever large cities he wanted to, spreading it.

"And it's my fault."

 _There._

Listening to the rising exclamations, feeling Crowley's expressionless gaze focus on her, she felt an odd sense of relief just getting it out.

"He could still have done it, true, jumping from host to host - " Just like she had told Crowley, days ago. " - but he would have been weakened by those jumps, slower to recover. Somehow, I managed to give him a host that lasted at least a week or two, maybe even longer. So he was strong enough to do this...blitz..."

She paused. The older Winchester brother was focused intently on her, enough that it made her nervous.

"Go on," he said.

"When Sam Winchester...killed Crowley - " Saying that word, with all its finality, still sent a chill through her, and she flashed back to those horrible, frozen weeks when she had frantically searched every occult database she knew of or had heard about for a spell to bring him back. She frowned down at her laptop again, rubbed a hand back and forth on the table next to it. "Well. Long story. When demons die, they are...reborn as innocent human babies in Fresno. California. Dunno why. Ask God. Ask Lucifer - he's the one who made us; maybe it was some grand joke for him..."

 _~~get to the point.~~_

She shook her head with a jerk. "Anyway. I had to get to him quickly, before he was...reformed into someone new. We found the woman, I did the spellwork - " _Molten heat searing her body, creeping from one side to the other, forming a soul conduit_. She shuddered. "When we were done, the woman's baby was dead: no soul, no baby. Crowley wanted me to finish her off. I...couldn't. So I sent her back to her home."

"So...what? You think this woman is Lucifer's vessel now? Why?" It was like she and Dean were alone; everyone else had faded from her awareness. His eyes drilled into her, serious, questioning, a bit angry.

"She was as of last week."

She had been about to say the words, but it wasn't her voice: it was Crowley's. She darted a surprised look at him. Meeting her eyes, he tilted up an eyebrow, spread his hands as if to say, "Might as well come clean all the way." He slouched down in his chair, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and managed to look nonchalant and bored.

 _~~not angry? pb is okay with this?~~_

 _I...guess so...?_

"We got a report from one of my higher level demons. He...erm...encountered her while she was siccing some Croats on her patsy."

Dean frowned; the muscle at his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. "And it didn't occur to you that maybe - just maybe! - it might be a good idea to tell all of us?"

"Dean, darling," Crowley drawled. "We _are_ telling you. Here. Now."

Dean clenched his teeth harder. " _Earlier_?" he gritted out.

"It wasn't the time. Now is the time. My head research honcho here has her laptop ready, so I assume she has...done some research?" He raised an eyebrow at her again. She nodded and flipped it open.

"So. I backtracked using her address and got a photo of her which we can maybe use to track her. I was thinking you could hack into big city CCTV systems?" She looked at Charlie again.

Charlie nervously tucked some hair behind her ears, her eyes unfocusing as she thought. "We've got good fiber here, so bandwidth wouldn't be a problem - I've already gotten into some CCTV systems, don't ask why, so while it might take some time to get into them all, hmm - and I can cobble together some facial recognition scripts, so - " She refocused on Dani and nodded. "Yeah, can do."

Sam Winchester, sitting beside Dani, had leaned over to peer at the laptop display. He reached out to tilt it towards himself, and she reacted instinctively with a small hiss and eyes flashing black. She would never - _never_ \- forget his hands plunging the angel blade into her lover, twisting it, smiling that grim, triumphant smile. But he dismissed her response with a small wave of his hand, staring intently at the screen. "Dean..." His voice was hoarse, urgent. "Take a look at this." He spun the laptop around and pushed it to his brother.

Dean took one look and his eyes widened. " _Holy...shit,_ " he breathed.

"Yeah. Change the suburban mom hair bob to long curls, put her in '70s clothes, and what do you get?"

" _Mom?!_ "

* * *

It felt like a punch in the gut. It was an uncanny resemblance. Oh, there were some very small differences, the eyes weren't quite right, but if he had walked past this woman on the street, he'd have scared her shitless by grabbing her and hugging her, it was that close. She was somewhere between Mom's age when they went back in time and Mom's age when she died; late 20s, he'd peg it if he had to guess.

And this woman, this doppelgänger of Mom's - _she_ was Lucifer's host?!

He closed his eyes, wincing.

"That would explain why she's lasted so long as a host..." Sam murmured. Dean shot him a glance.

"Oh, yeah, big time."

"She's got to be closely related..."

Dani had been listening intently, head swiveling back and forth between the two. Now she snatched the laptop back, bent over it, and began typing rapidly. "Name's Nicole Campbell-Tanner, 27 - "

"Campbell," Sam interrupted. He and Dean locked eyes. Dean nodded slowly, wondering if he looked as shocked and upset as Sam did. "Check if there's a Winchester a generation or two back," Sam added. Some more typing from Dani, then she lifted her head.

"Yeah, her maternal grandmother was your grandfather's cousin. How'd you know? What does this have to do with her lasting so long?" She sounded honestly confused. Dean frowned at her: how could an expert on the occult _not_ know, what with all the shit having to do with Lucy going down the last few years? He opened his mouth to answer.

"You see before you, pet, the end result of a millennia-long angelic breeding program." Crowley said first, flourishing a hand at the two brothers.

Dean snapped his mouth closed, fumed for a moment, and finally said, "Hey. _Our_ family, _our_ story." Crowley raised placating hands and gestured him to continue. He looked at Dani again. "We were especially bred to be the hosts for Michael and Lucifer for the Apocalypse." He left it at that: even all these years later, the knowledge that they had been bred - like _cows,_ damnit! - stung. The thought that Mom and Dad had been brought together not by honest human love but by meddling from the fucking Holy Host made him want to smash things. How would their lives have been different? Would they even have been born at all? A flash mental photo, of him being a mechanic, Sam being a lawyer - family, kids, home life - popped into his head. He shook it off.

Dani grimaced. "Ew, yuck."

 _Exactly!_

He contented himself by just saying, "Yup. Anyway, so someone closely related probably would be...hm...just as good at holding the fort against the body-melting effect as we were supposed to be."

"Thus, our current situation," Crowley finished off. Dani glanced from him to Sam, then to Dean, then shrugged.

"Well, the main thing this means is that she's going to keep going, right?"

"Like the Energizer bunny," Dean said glumly. He leaned back in his chair, sighing, and rubbing the back of his head.

"So we need to find a way to stop her, kill her."

The matter-of-fact sentence punched him in the guts a second time. It sucked, yeah, but this lady - no matter _what_ she looked like, no matter how much she reminded him of Mom - needed to be taken out of the equation. He looked at Sam, who looked back with shadowed, grim eyes. The same thoughts had obviously been going through his mind.

"About fucking time y'all got around to the obvious," Gorskon rumbled, rolling his eyes. He waved at his fellow demon docs. "Can we get out of here? I mean, this stuff is riveting, fucking riveting - " His mocking voice made it clear he didn't think so. " - but we have shit to do." Dean eyed him sourly, then waved a hand.

"Sure, yeah, get out." _Douchebag_ , he added in his mind. To his surprise, stolid, bland Davis, still standing behind Crowley's chair, flashed demon black eyes at Gorskon's back. Not like him.

 _But then...Hah. Nobody likes that dude._

The gaggle of doctors faded out the conference room door, and the remainder - _the inner core_ , he labeled them - resettled closer together at the table.

"We can always use the angel bullets to slow him - her - down, but it would take bullets made from an archangel blade to kill him - her, damnit! - but they're all gone..." Crowley started.

They continued brainstorming ways to deal with Lucifer in his premium archangel bodysuit. Dean tuned them out. Calmly discussing how to kill someone who was Mom's spitting image made his stomach churn. He picked up one of the pens and started idly doodling on his copy of the agenda, sketching the Colt, the Spear of Destiny, and other occult objects in the margins.

Something was nagging at his mind, but he couldn't place it.

"Och, aye, you have your fancy occult databases to search for a spell, but I have other books, older books - " Scorn for modern-day technology rang in Rowena's voice. Dean snorted, and concentrated on drawing an angel blade. Finding it a bit too plain, he started adding some curlicues he remembered etched into Gabriel's blade from back at the Elysium Hotel -

 _Wait a minute._

He dropped the pen and stared down at the doodle, transfixed.

"Guys?" They were still arguing, debating spells and what-not.

" _Guys!_ " Even with his voice raised, it wasn't enough.

"Hey! _GUYS!_ " He tucked a thumb and forefinger into his mouth and blew a short, sharp, deafening whistle that cut through the babble. The result was satisfying: voices stopped dead as everyone jerked around to look at him. With rising excitement, he said into the sudden, shocked silence, "I think I know where an archangel blade is."

Crowley arched an inquiring eyebrow. Dani looked curious, but dubious. Rowena tilted her head back, staring down her nose at him. Cas and Sam were both frowning, puzzled.

"Dean - what? - _where_?" Sam asked. Dean smiled triumphantly at his brother.

"Remember Gabriel and Lucifer's fight?"

A brief moment of incomprehension, then Sam's eyes widened. "The hotel - !" he breathed. Dean grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

"We blasted out of there so fast that we never stopped to pick it up. Whaddaya wanna bet it's still lying on the floor of that room, gathering dust?"


	20. Cold As Ice (Foreigner)

Dean was ready for a road trip; being stuck in this converted semi-corporate complex with nothing to do drove him up a wall. "So Sam and me'll go to the hotel, grab the blade. Day or two max. Meanwhile, you guys find a sick human for the docs to play with - shouldn't be hard - and get the prototype vaccines and stuff to your contacts."

Rowena leaned back in her chair, propped her elbow on the arm and her chin on her hand. She looked down her pointed, tiny nose at him with remarkable hauteur and said, simply, "No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?!" _No? No road trip? No blade? No vaccine? No what?!_

She tossed her red curls. "Samuel is in no condition to travel. He needs to rest more. You may be his brother, but he is _my_ apprentice, and when it comes to things dealing with the power, my say wins. So, you can go gallivantin' after your wee fancy blade all you want, Winchester, but not with him." _Ah. No Sam. Hm._

Sam's forehead wrinkled in a frown, his eyes darting from Rowena, to his brother, and back. He lifted a hand in protest. "Rowena - "

She spun to face him, shaking a trembling finger at him. "No. I say, _no_. What you did there - I have never seen anything like it, _o cuisle - "_

Crowley grimaced and made a strangled gurgling sound. " _Will_ you stop using that word?!" he snarled.

Rowena shot him a glare, snapped, "No!", then continued on Sam. "And we have no idea how long it truly takes to recover from such use of the power. We need to know _what_ you did, _how_ you did it, and..." She breathed in deep, firmed her shoulders, and went on. "And whether you can do it again. You can't be doin' that while on a road trip with your brother. Especially since you could just tumble over into that deep sleep all over again, with him not knowin' what to do with you and you bein' a dead weight on his hands."

Dean had been ready to start arguing, but Rowena's last reason made him stop. It was a good point; Sam still wasn't looking at his best, and the fight in the kitchen didn't seem to have helped. He squinted at Sam with a thoughtful frown, rubbing the stubble on his chin, and sighed. "Damnit, Sam...I think she has a point."

Sam opened his mouth as if to say something, then snapped it closed, pressing his lips together in frustration.

"Look, dude, I know you don't like all the fuss and bother. But you don't look good, and...well, she's the expert."

Rowena arched her brows and simpered at Dean. "Well! If it has _your_ approval!" She let her voice trail off as she glanced back at Sam. "I am just...concerned." she said to him. Sam stayed taut for a moment or two more, then finally unwound, giving Rowena a tiny lopsided smile.

"I know." Listening, Dean felt a tiny twinge of...jealousy? Surely not. But there was a sudden open fondness between the two that surprised him.

"So. I guess I drive alone, then!" Giving the table a rapid drumbeat with his hands, Dean stood up, already making plans and lists in his head.

Cas, who had been quiet all through the discussion, shook his head and rolled his eyes. "No, Dean. You are _not_ driving, and you are _not_ going alone. _We_ will go, and _we_ will travel via my powers."

Dean frowned at him. "Okay, then, it's you and me and Baby - "

"No. We will transport there." Cas fixed him with those vivid blue eyes. "It is much quicker."

"Sonovabitch, Cas! When you disappear me, I get tummy problems for a week!"

Cas ignored the plea. "The matter is somewhat pressing. It will take time to make bullets from the blade, and every day, more people are falling sick and dying. I will transport us directly to this Elysium Fields hotel. If your digestive issues become too severe, I will heal you."

Dean slumped and muttered under his breath. A quick look around the table at the others revealed no sympathy; in fact, he got the distinct impression that Charlie was trying not to snicker.

"All right, all right, then! Jesus. So we go to the hotel, find the archangel blade, and vamoose. What could go wrong? Quick and easy." He straightened up, slapped his palms on the tabletop, and nodded.

"Tempting the gods," Dani murmured, just loud enough to be heard. Dean shot her a look, at which she shrugged. "Look. Even demons can be superstitious. Never say something is 'quick and easy'. It's like - like - not having a rain date for a picnic. Besides..." She stopped.

"When is anything ever 'quick and easy' for you guys?" Charlie finished for her. Rowena gave a muffled snort.

"Whatever." Dean shrugged. "Okay, so: no better time than the present." He cocked a finger at the angel. "Just remember to fix me up afterwards!" Cas nodded, walked over, laid a firm, warm hand on his shoulder.

A second later the two of them stood in bright, chilly sunlight in a dilapidated, weed-ridden parking lot. The abrupt transition when being transported by Cas always mentally jolted Dean. He took a moment to recover, then looked around, taking it all in. The hotel sign, leaning drunkenly against the ground, neon bulbs shattered, glass shards twinkling in the sunlight around it. Brown clumps of weeds and scraggly shrubs poking out of the concrete. Faded lines marking parking spaces. Remnant snow from the huge storm of a few weeks ago in scattered humps. Old empty beer bottles and cans studded the landscape. Beyond, the building: windows broken, some boarded up, the plate glass front doors gaping open, rain stains and mildew marking the outer walls.

He grunted, shifted, and hitched up his waistband.

"Well, let's get to it." With that, he marched towards the doors, Cas trailing him. His stomach growled and gurgled, a faint foretaste of what was to come.

The interior was trashed. Dried mud streaked across the carpeting just inside the doors, cobwebs draped down from the moldy ceiling. The front desk - what was left of it - had a pile of ancient bird droppings on one end; he peered up above it to see a dangling light fixture with an old nest snuggled up against the end closest to the ceiling. More empty beer cans and bottles littered the floor in front of the huge fireplace, this time with used syringes and condoms mixed in. Amateurish graffiti tags layered over each other on the walls. "I see the local kids have been hanging out here," Dean said dryly. "Looks like fun."

Cas was turning in place, looking around, nose wrinkling at the musty smell. "Do you remember where you last saw Gabriel with the blade?"

Dean glanced around too. "Kinda different looking than the last time we were here." He moved forward, putting the front desk to his left, the fireplace on his right, and pointed to a shadowy hallway. "This way, I think." He headed into the hall, Cas close on his heels. It was dark here, away from the windows, so he fished out his flashlight and switched it on. The light seemed faint, diluted, as the focal point danced off the walls, picking out more piles of debris and trash. The hallway, away from the fresh air pouring in the smashed lobby doors, reeked of mildew and piss. The lack of what little warmth the lobby gained from the weak winter sunshine meant the hall was also filled with a lingering winter chill; Dean shivered and watched the puffs of his breath glow in the flashlight.

They started down the hall, avoiding the heaps of garbage. When Cas called his name from behind, Dean turned back toward him and walked straight into a veil of cobwebs that he had previously avoided. It plastered across his face and he danced away, batting at the sticky stuff.

"Gah! Ugh! Jesus!" His voice raised echoes in the hall. It also raised a quartet of resting pigeons from fallen beams near the ceiling, who burst into the air with a clap and a whirring from their wings and startled coos. "Cas, buddy, c'mon, help me get this shit off me!" He batted at the disoriented pigeons flying past him while trying to brush the webbing off his face and hair. "Cas?!" There was no answer, no help. He spun around, looking for the angel, shining his flashlight back down the hall from where they had come.

No Cas.

" _Cas!_ " he shouted. The walls bounced the word back at him in a hissing murmur: "Cassss casss casss..." The skin on the back of his head prickled as his hair rose, and a shiver ran down his spine. He spun again, peering down the dimly lit hall the way they had been headed. It stretched out before him, somehow looking longer than it had just moments ago.

Still no Cas.

"Cas! Goddamnit! Where the hell _are_ you?!" This was seriously weird, and he was starting to worry.

For a moment, he thought he heard Cas's rough voice calling his name again, as if from the bottom of a well, or a great distance. But then it faded away. The pigeons were gone now, too.

It was just him, the cobwebs and fallen ceilings and trash piles, in the darkness.

His flashlight began flickering. The chill of the hallway turned into a sudden deep freeze.

He knew this routine.

 _Sunovabitch. You have_ _ **got**_ _to be kidding me. Who'd've thought the Hotel Of The Gods would be fucking_ _ **haunted**_ _?!_

* * *

Dani stared at the spot where the angel and Dean Winchester had been standing and blinked. Castiel's use of power had a faint holy flavor to it that made her skin crawl; the differing touch of angel, demon, and human powers was intriguing, and her mind, ready for a new puzzle, began teasing at it. There were similarities to them all - the same capabilities manifesting in different ways. But surely power was power, right? There had to be some sort of a common source...

When Crowley touched her elbow with a gentle push, she twitched and came out of her reverie. "Dani-girl," he murmured, nodding his head to the door. Rowena was doing the same with Sam, and Charlie was already gone. She snatched up her laptop and walked with him, vaguely aware that Davis was following behind them.

Walking down the hall, Crowley was quiet. When Davis announced he was going to the kitchen to finish preparing the dinner for the day, he merely grunted in response, a tiny frown wrinkling the skin between his eyebrows, eyes focused miles away.

The silence continued all the way to their "suite". He opened the door to his sumptuous room, gesturing her in, still saying nothing.

She had had other ideas in mind, but this was obviously not the time. Sighing softly, she said, "Well. I might as well get started contacting my NSA guys..." She let it trail off, leaving an opening for him to start talking about whatever it was that was occupying his mind. He nodded, walked to the burgundy-draped windows, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and stared broodingly across the brown fields that surrounded the complex.

~ _~ooookay. he's got something on his mind, that's for sure!~~_

 _Hunh. Wonder what? Well, he'll talk soon enough._

 _~~hah! it's a miracle he's kept his mouth shut this long!~~_

Dani rolled her eyes at Innie-Me's commentary, and headed in to her own bright room, her temporary nest. A wave of homesickness for her New York apartment swept over her, but she pushed it down.

 _No time for that!_

She docked her laptop and started to work.

* * *

Castiel entered the hallway following Dean, and immediately noticed the way it felt wrong. It wasn't something he could explain to a human without a three-hour long lecture in quantum physics and angel physiology, and it wasn't something prominent, more like a taste in the back of his vessel's throat, or an itch in his fingertips. But it alerted him enough that he called out quietly, "Dean." Dean turned back to him, directly into a swathe of cobwebs that he had previously dodged without thinking.

"Psssst! Castiel!"

Surprised by the unexpected voice, by his name, Castiel swiveled to peer into the dark doorway to his left, towards the voice. A hand reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him through, then a soft blue-white glow illuminated the person who had called. Recognition and a soaring sense of joy jolted through him.

" _Gabriel!_ But...what are you doing here?" He tamped down the joy, remembering his last strange encounter with Gabriel, the archangel's charge to him to lead the fight against Metatron, the end of the encounter which had left him dazed and confused, wondering if Gabriel was actually still alive or if it was all merely an illusion.

"Hey, bro, long time no see," Gabriel caroled. He leaned against the wall, all golden-brown hair, "aren't-you-surprised-to-see-me?" smile, and good cheer. Well. That cocky, jokey attitude was _definitely_ Gabriel.

"But - " He turned back to the door to call out, "Dean!" Dean needed to be here; if Gabriel was here, alive, then their plans needed to change.

The doorway was no longer there. The _wrongness_ twisted at him, and then the doorway was back, but in a different place: he was facing it, and the door was closed. He instinctively reached out to anchor himself in the dimensional reality of "human vessel on Earth", but the hooks to solidify reality around him slithered and slipped off the dimensional froth instead of sinking in. The result, reflected in his vessel, was an ice pick stabbing through his forehead and a rising feeling of full-on nausea.

He briefly regretted being so cavalier with Dean's digestive complaints about dimensional transport.

"What's happening? What are you doing here, too? We thought you were truly dead!" The last came out as a hurt accusation. He had mourned Gabriel's passing; the world losing that beam of golden joy and mischievous humor had been a blow. But, now, it seemed like yet another of Gabriel's pranks, a lie designed to hide away, avoid responsibility. Castiel's fury and pain grew.

"Whaddaya mean, 'what's happening?' Oh, you mean the room flipping about like that? Just a dimensional pocket, bro. You're frowning. Nah, not dead. Always so damned serious, Castiel the warrior..." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Relax! Catch me up on what's going on, how's the Apocalypse, did Dean and Sammy manage to get my message? About the Horsemen's rings?"

Castiel blinked. "That was years ago."

"Really?! Heh. Time moves kinda weird when you're in a pocket, y'know. Years, hunh? Wow. No wonder you look...well, frankly, you look kinda shitty. Worn down. You need a rest. Why don't you hang with me a while? A little vacay. Stay here, tell me all the shit the boys have gotten into - "

Castiel's frown grew. "No. We - Dean and I - we were looking for your archangel blade, to form a weapon against Lucifer - "

Gabriel hooted. " _Still_?! Jesus, you guys - "

Castiel continued, loudly, "And if you know where it is, we need to go back to Dean and tell him, get this side visit over with, get back to the lab - "

Holding up his hands, Gabriel said, "Whoa! Whoa there, buckaroo! Slow down! What's the rush?" There it was again: the eternal side-stepping of responsibility.

"The 'rush'," Castiel gritted out, "Is that Croatoan virus is sweeping the world, Lucifer is spreading it, we need to stop it, and to do that, we need to stop him. So pull yourself together, and let's go back." He vaguely realized he was chastising an archangel. The him of years ago would have been appalled at the blasphemy; now, he was just impatient, and already irritated (again!) by his elder brother's lackadaisical attitude. He grabbed Gabriel's arm and started pushing him to the door.

Gabriel dug his heels in, making a dead weight of himself. "Hey, uh, bro...so there's actually a kind of problem with that plan. I mean - great! It's great! A great plan! There's just the thing that...uh...I'm kind of stuck here." He gestured around the room.

As he gestured, his form flickered and stuttered, and the room whirled again and was momentarily filled with the ice of absolute zero. Then everything steadied, but the underlying dimensional froth clanged and twisted, leaving Castiel with another ice pick ramming through his forehead and another wave of severe nausea.

Castiel stopped dead. His mind giggled: _I froze in place!_

He'd been out hunting with Dean and Sam often enough to recognize those signs.

 _Dear God. Gabriel's a ghost_. _**Now**_ _what do I do?_

* * *

Voices coming from Crowley's room roused Dani from her focus on the laptop; she looked up and realized the sun had set and the voice she had heard was Davis.

She yawned and stretched luxuriously, unwound herself from the chair she had been perched on, then strode to the door. Peering in, she was in time to see Davis coaxing Crowley's jacket off, smoothing it, and carefully hanging it up in the closet. Crowley was still standing by the window. She wondered if he had been there, buried in thought, the entire time.

"Now, sir, I have brought you and Miss Dani dinner - " Davis gestured to the tray he had brought with him. A luscious aroma wafted over to her, and she realized she was ravenous.

"Davis. Bring it in my room, why don't you. I don't feel like masculine decor right now." Crowley turned to look at her with a tiny smile, and he snorted. "What? Look, you always have such - such - " She gestured wordlessly at the dark wood, the burgundy everywhere, the Persian carpet. "It's dark. I want to eat Davis's food where I can _see_ it, damnit."

Crowley sauntered over and slid an arm around her waist. "Very well, then. Into your haven of light and bright we shall go," he said, dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head. He squeezed through the doorway beside her, his hand slyly sliding up and down in passing, and she stifled a snicker. Davis merely raised his eyebrows a bit and collected his tray, following after them.

A short while later, she and Crowley were seated at the small table in her room, plates filled, wine glasses topped off, and then...

Then Crowley returned right back to his silence, paying no attention to the (utterly delicious!) meal before him except to mindlessly shovel food into his mouth while his abstracted gaze focused over her shoulder. Davis had faded back against the wall, as was his wont.

After a bit of eating, and getting irritated with the continued mental absence of her table-mate, she tapped her fork against her wine glass. A dainty chiming rang through the room.

He startled, and his eyes momentarily focused on her. "Eh?"

"Okay. Enough. You've been off in la-la land all afternoon. I'm not used to you being quiet. It's not you. You're chewing over something, and I want to know what." His eyebrows twitched into a small frown, but at least she knew he was actually _seeing_ her now. "Hey. Head research honcho here, remember? Whatever you're turning around in that twisty, devious brain, perhaps I can help?"

The back-handed compliment made him give her a fleeting grin, but the grin was replaced with a thoughtful squint. "Hm. Maybe you can." He straightened up, suddenly much more vivid and present. "I've been thinking - "

She snorted. "No shit."

"Impertinence!" he chided. "So, pet: we know that the moose can heal Croatoan in humans. A few at a time. However, it is not, in any way, scalable. He simply doesn't have the power. The question is, do we _want_ him to be able to, say, heal _all_ the sick humans?"

She opened her mouth to say an automatic, "Of course!", but stopped. _Was_ it "of course"? Or was that just a response due to being a newer demon, very close to her human-ness? Wouldn't it be good to have fewer humans? Or would it? Suddenly, she was very confused. She frowned down at the remains of her food and shifted it aimlessly with her fork.

He cocked a shrewd eyebrow at her and pointed a finger. "Ah. Yes. There you go."

She glared at him. "Is _that_ what you've been stewing about all afternoon?!"

Grinning, he leaned back, and scratched the back of his head. "No, no, pet, that was an easy question to answer: no more humans, no more new demons, a stagnating demon society preying on itself, and a slow death of demonkind. With no hopes for renewal, either; death for demons when there are no humans around means really, truly _dead_ demons." He snorted. "It's the cycle of life, writ large, not just a sappy phrase from an animated movie."

She turned it over in her head for a few moments, then nodded. "Okay, then. Saving the human race is - is - "

"A Kantian categorical imperative."

"Ooh, listen to you, getting all old-school philosophical!" She leaned back as Davis discreetly reached for her plate to remove it. He did the same for Crowley's, frowning down at the ignored food. Dani was surprised to see his eyes flash black, but when she looked more closely, they were his normal human vessel's brown, and she passed it off as a trick of the light.

"Um, no, it's extremely practical." Crowley shifted in his chair, took a drink of wine, stuffed his hands in his pockets. "No, the question I've been stewing about, darling, is _how_. You do remember how I defeated Jenna..."

"Yes, by stealing Sam Winchester's wild power - " She stopped and her eyes widened. Davis slid a dessert plate before her, laden with chocolate mousse layered with some type of crispy, lacy cookie, topped with slivers of mango and drizzled with chocolate sauce. She licked her lips, and felt Innie-Me groaning in the background. She took a small bite, allowing herself to fully savor the sensual pleasure of the contrasting textures and flavors. Innie-Me groaned again, and part of Dani was delighted with this small torment. Another part sent her vessel a reassuring, _I'll let you surface to have a bite in a bit. Not now, though. This is getting very interesting._

"You see where I'm going here..."

"Or how I managed to return your soul to your body, by getting your inner circle to 'lend' me their power." He gave her a small, satisfied smile and nodded.

"This, my superb head research honcho, is why I keep you around. For your quick wit."

She pouted. "I thought it was for the great sex," she teased. Davis, who was sliding a similar dessert plate before his master, allowed himself a tiny, amused smile.

Crowley's eyelids drooped, and and he shot her a haughty look. "Please," he drawled. "Great sex is easy to get. Brains are not."

The cold statement sent a wave of jealous pain stabbing through her, making her gasp softly. It was amazing how such a throwaway turn of phrase could hurt so much. Crowley heard her gasp; his eyes softened and he reached across the table to wrap one of his hands around hers. "Brains make great sex that much better, pet, never doubt it."

It was reassuring, but she paid it no mind: she heard a double growl coming from Davis, human and demon growl combined. Her eyes flashed up to his face to see that, no, she hadn't been mistaken earlier: his eyes were flat, angry, beetle black. At the same time, he was drawing his angel blade from its sheath, raising it up, aiming it at his master. His lips peeled back from his bared teeth in an angry snarl, completely unlike any expression she had ever seen on his face. The contrast with his normal self made her breath stop and her blood run cold.

" _DUCK!_ " she shrieked.


	21. Fight The Good Fight (Triumph)

Time slowed down to a crawl. Everything happened at once: Crowley's face shifted from fond amusement to puzzled alertness. Davis's arm, holding the blade, the blade which was an angel blade and thus deadly to demons, still arced down towards the middle of Crowley's back.

She tried to come up with something to do, some way to avert the disaster in the making, but she was panicking, fixating on the frozen weeks when he had been dead, grieving in advance.

 _Lucifer, Lilith, and Azazel! What do I DO?!_

 _~~calm. calm down. stop thinking about him, think about what to do.~~_

 _I CAN'T!_

 _~~yes you can. you're holding his hand. pull him sideways, diagonally, that way even if the knife connects, it won't be as bad. pull. now.~~_

The rapid-fire exchange happened in a flash. Time started moving again. The blade was closer.

Dani gasped, sucking in so much air she felt light-headed, and followed Innie-Me's advice, seizing Crowley's hand in a hard grasp and using his arm as a lever to pull him down to and then across the table. Dinnerware went clattering before him; the delightful crisps and mousse dessert slid sideways with his torso, smearing across the tablecloth and his black silk shirt. The angel blade slammed into his shoulder, hard, and the sizzling of demon essence mixed with his shout of pain. Davis, still snarling, tried to pull the blade free.

Like the day so many months ago, when she had instinctively used her power in a fit of rage and jealousy, she flung a wild bolt at Davis, hurling him across the room to splay, pinned, against the wall.

Unbalanced by the yanking action, she tumbled to the floor sideways, pulling her wounded lover along with her. He ended up sprawled across her, cursing and pale. She plucked at his shoulders, then flinched back when he howled.

"Jamie. Oh, Lucifer! Jamie, talk to me. Can you sit up?" Sitting up, she levered him up, too, twisting him to lean against her. This time she made sure to avoid the wound, and to make sure the blade, still stuck in the wound, protruded to her side. He hissed in a breath at the movement.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" His voice was shaky with pain. He steadied himself against her, and she pushed his torso forward just a bit so she could see the blade. Blood was seeping out around it, oozing into the fabric of his brocade shirt, the dark red blotting out the grey paislies nearest the entry point.

"Davis. I have no idea why."

"You used your power. Zombies, baby demon girl, watch out."

"I don't give a fuck." Still, she heightened her alertness to her surroundings.

He chuckled at that, then gasped again as the chuckle made the blade move in the wound. Biting his lip to steel against the pain, he craned his head to look at it.

"My. Skewered like a pig on a spit."

"Well, yes." He sounded more like himself, so she began to relax. "So...uh...what the hell do I do? Take it out? I think I can heal it, but it'll be slowish and incomplete. But since I've already used power, lit us up like a neon sign, it won't matter if I use more." She shook her head angrily. "I shouldn't have, I know, but it was...uh...kind of automatic." She reached for the handle of the blade.

" _Stop_!" She froze. "Slowly, pet. Very slowly. Right now it's acting like a plug. Pull it out and you get my very valuable blood gushing out like a waterfall. So: ease it out a bit, heal the part you've exposed inside me, ease it out some more, lather, rinse, repeat." It pulled an involuntary choked laugh from her. She wiggled the blade a bit, pulling it out about an inch. He gasped.

"You're going to have to keep lookout for zombies; I can't do that and heal you at the same time," she muttered, peering at his shoulder. She saw him nod in her peripheral vision, and then she blanked him out, concentrating on the task at hand. She had only ever healed herself - ironically, at Davis's advice and tutelage - so this was different. Additionally, her prior healing had been much lighter work, bruises and cuts mostly. She poured her consciousness and power down to an intent point, feeling around the interior of the muscle to find the end of the wound, focusing the power on knitting muscles, blood vessels, anything she could recognize together again. He twitched beneath her, and she heard a familiar loud pop of a head exploding, but she ignored the distraction, retreating out of his body to pull the blade out a little bit more, then diving back in.

"Lather, rinse, repeat", indeed. She had no idea how long it took, but she was shaking and sweating, and her head pounded from the start of a power hangover when she finally eased the blade out completely. Only a little blood came out with it, instead of the feared gushing, and she gave a tiny sigh of relief. With the sigh, the tightness in her body released, and she realized she had been tensed into a knot during the working. She leaned her forehead against the now-healed shoulder, pushing it against his firm flesh to try to help the raging headache. He shifted against her, twisting around, and now, instead of him leaning against her, she was in his lap resting against him and his arms were around her, holding her tight.

"Are you okay there, Dani-girl?" he murmured against her head.

In response, she pushed her forehead harder against his chest and groaned. "Head," she muttered. "Damned power hangover. A lot of work."

"Yes, well, you have saved me twice now. It still hurts, but I can take it from here, pet. And you will be pleased to know we had only one zombie drop in and I was quite able to take care of her." Dani grunted something indistinct against him. "Scrawny bitch, too - looked like she was starving. I suspect we may be near the point of being able to use our power freely again as the demon zombies seem to be petering out."

Well, that was good news. Except...

"Davis...? Because that's got to be why, y'know. Why he attacked."

"Hm." Crowley rested his chin on her shoulder and peered thoughtfully at Davis, still pinned to the wall behind the dining table. She wiggled around to look too. Crowley grumbled beneath his breath and resettled his chin on her other shoulder. Davis looked back at them, pale and hangdog, shame radiating from him like a heatwave.

The silence grew. Davis blushed a pale pink and turned his head away. He coughed, then said, in a thin, toneless voice, "I regret to inform you, sir, that I seem to have contracted the Croatoan virus."

Crowley barked out a laugh. "We noticed. But thank you for the information, Davis. I take it that it still has the attack-Crowley symptom." It wasn't really a question, but Davis jerked his head in a nod. He looked like he was going to start crying.

"Sir. If I were not held here - thank you, Miss Dani - I would - I would be hard pressed to keep from attacking you again. I am...extremely angry." His face twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashed black again, and he gritted out, "I must say, sir, it's your own damned fault for ignoring my hard work with the food, and insulting Miss Dani like that!" Then, like a switch, his eyes returned to normal brown, his face smoothed out, and he tacked on a miserable, "My deepest apologies. Sir."

"No doubt," Crowley drawled. He turned his head, nibbled on Dani's earlobe, and murmured, "So. Back to our conversation. We experiment with Sam Winchester, see if he can also heal demons."

"You actually think self-righteous, upright, moral Sam Winchester will be willing to _take_ power, _steal_ power from someone else?!" Dani snorted. "Not a chance!"

"Well, no," Crowley acknowledged. "Not our Moose, sad to say. However..." He stopped and rubbed his beard with a thumb and forefinger. "However..." He trailed off, squinting at Davis, and stayed silent.

She rolled her eyes and jabbed backwards with an elbow, which elicited a surprised whoop from him. "However what?! Don't just leave it hanging!"

"Heh. We actually _do_ want to keep Davis hanging, pet." She growled. "However. I have been thinking of the way some witches are made - which is what led you to the method of stealing power. Remember, on the agreement with the demon, the demon _gives_ the witch a small amount of power. To, er, kickstart the power engine, as it were. So, if one were to, say, _give_ power to the Moose, that would avoid the thorny moral questions entirely..."

"Ahhhh..." she breathed.

"Yes. Which is what I was tumbling over in my brain all afternoon."

"Well, he probably wouldn't need any more power than he has naturally to heal Davis. After all, he was able to heal two humans on his own...I would think the motivation would be more of a problem." Her headache twanged at her. She gritted her teeth against it, and twisted her head to push it against Crowley's shoulder again. "Can we take a few minutes out of this discussion and get me some hangover goop? My skin is starting to hurt and the light is stabbing my eye sockets, too. If we don't do it soon, I'm going to puke. On you."

"And after you called me Jamie!"

"I do sometimes. In my head. Not often."

"I quite like it. Reminds me of old times. Before we started getting drawn into life-threatening adventures..."

"Yes, well..." She burrowed into his shoulder some more. "Goop. Now," she commanded.

* * *

Of course they had jaunted off to the hotel without kitting up first. Of _course_. No shotguns, no salt, no machete, no iron. On the other hand, they hadn't been expecting a haunted hotel, so there was some excuse. "Quick and easy." Hah. Dani and Charlie had been right to be skeptical. Dean would never _tell_ them that, though.

 _And Cas is a big boy. He'll be able to take care of himself._

 _...right?_

He fumbled in his pocket for his backup old iron nail-on-a-bungee-cord and pulled it out, while eyeing the dark corridor that seemed to go on forever before him. The shadowy space between hotel room doors was stretched; it made him think of some of the weirder optical effects in recent movies. It helped that the hotel rooms were illuminated by the watery sunlight, and each door had a thin line of brightness coming through the space under it. The icy coldness that had alerted him to the haunting throbbed, at moments almost disappearing entirely, then creeping back to make him shiver, then receding again. He heaved a sigh.

"Welp. Still gotta find that damned blade, dude." Bracing himself, he began a slow pace down the hall, trying to mentally squish the visuals back to normal so he could recognize the right set of conference room doors when he got to them.

His eyes had adjusted enough that when the dim glow of a ghost flared up next to him it was like a warning sign. There were legs walking next to him, matching his pace. A tingle of awareness shot up from the base of his spine, zipping up his back and ending with a prickling in the hair at the back of his head. He tensed up, ready to take action when the ghost attacked.

Nothing happened.

The legs kept walking with him. Pot belly above it. There were arms swinging beside it...too many arms. He darted his eyes sideways at that realization, then stopped in his tracks.

The head was way too big. There were _huge_ ...ears?

And a...trunk?

The ghost had stopped, too. Dean began swinging the bungee cord, ready to zap the ghost with the iron nail.

"Please don't do that." The voice was deep, mellow, reassuring. He blinked: it was a rare ghost that actually spoke to the living. He slid another sideways glance. Yup, four arms. An elephant's head. _Elephant?!_

The lips beneath the trunk smiled. "Yes, elephant." _Oops. Musta said it out loud_. "Long story. It involves my father and a sword, and my mother getting angry, and..." The four arms, plus the trunk, shrugged in unison. "Like I said: long story. I am Ganesha. And you are, I think, one of the infamous Winchester brothers Jahweh's crew were so bothered about, right? Dean? I remember you from the conference."

Dean swung to face the ghost. "Well, I sure as hell don't remember _you_ from the conference!" Intricate tattoos traced around the elephant head, the (four!) hands, the trunk. It wore pink silk pantaloons that ballooned out over the embroidered shoes, covered with gold embroidery, and a short pink silk jacket...with four (four!) arms. And a skullcap. There were tusks, one of which was broken halfway and capped with embossed silver. One hand carried a small ax, one hand held a bowl of something, the third he couldn't see, and the fourth...the fingers opened and closed spasmodically, as if the ghost were trying to recapture something. He blinked at the vision. "Trust me, I'd remember you!"

The ghost - Ganesha - chuckled, a warm sound that jiggled the pot belly peeping out from under the bottom of the jacket. "Oh, I had on a human seeming at the time. We all did; it was part of the terms. But I was definitely there...and Lucifer killed me." Ganesha gestured with his trunk down the hall. "Shall we proceed?" He started down the hall, and after a stunned moment - _Shouldn't I be trying to kill this ghost?!_ \- Dean fell into step with him.

"So...uh...you're a dead god."

"Mm-hmm."

"And you're a _ghost?!_ "

Ganesha's trunk reached up to scratch beneath his skullcap. "Yes. There is something anchoring me in this pocket dimension." Dean stopped again.

"But - but - isn't that for ordinary ghosts?! And what do you mean, 'pocket dimension'?"

Ganesha had stopped, too, and focused his large, warm, infinitely wise brown eyes on him. For a second, Dean was transfixed, floating in a numinous cloud of worship. With an effort, he diverted his attention to the god's forehead tattoo, away from those amazing eyes. "Ghosts are ghosts, Dean Winchester. I am anchored. I have a good idea what is holding me here, and would like to locate it and be free to be reborn." The god folded his arms across his belly and cupped his chin with the end of his trunk. One side of it tapped against his chin. "As for a pocket dimension...hm. I can't explain. Think of it as...hm...a sort of appendix on the guts of the universe."

Now _that_ was an image.

"So if I find this object, this anchor, you'd go poof, like a regular ghost? I mean, no offense, but...uh...ghosts are not known for...uh...stability, if y'know what I mean." All he needed was a ghostly god going off the deep end! He squinted at Ganesha. Ganesha laughed, a booming elephantine hoot that echoed down the hallway and made his pot belly jump up and down.

The trunk swung down and grasped his shoulder, shaking him back and forth.

"Heh! Hoooom! Heh heh heh! Stability! Hoooom! Heh! Heeee!" Ganesha bent double. Perplexed - _hey, it wasn't_ _ **that**_ _funny! -_ Dean just stared at the ghost. The hoots from Ganesha's trunk were deafening, as it was right next to his ear. He worried about godly snot...

After a few more final hoots and laughs, Ganesha straightened up, shook his jacket back up his shoulders, and patted his shoulder with the trunk again. "Heh! Yes, well, some of us are more stable than the rest. Here. Have a lychee?" He held out the hand holding the bowl. Rearing his head back, Dean eyed the bowl with suspicion. Ganesha sighed, reached in with his trunk, and pulled out a white fruit-shaped thing, holding it delicately out between the tips. "They're quite tasty." _Elephant snot!_ He plucked the fruit from the trunk and held it.

"Go on, do!" Ganesha urged. Dean shrugged and popped it into his mouth. Aside from the rubbery texture, it was, indeed, delicious, with no hint of mucus. He was about to say as much when Ganesha whirled about to look down the hallway, ears laying flat against his head, ax hand rising, eyes narrowing. A glowing ghostly bird of some sort was flying toward them; as Dean watched, it shifted from a soaring flap to a glide, wings out, body bent, talons thrust forward. The bird was aimed directly at his head. He started his nail swinging, but realized he didn't have enough time to actually hit it before it hit him.

Ganesha flung his ax. It hit the bird a second before it was about to strike Dean, and the bird exploded into smoke then vanished. _Iron ax. Hunh._

"As I said, some of us are more stable than the others. _He_ \- " Ganesha pointed. " - is one of the less stable." Further down the hallway was another ghost, a tall, stooped old man with a flowing beard, a patch over one eye, another bird on his shoulder, holding a staff.

" _Gandalf?!_ " Dean sputtered. _Son of a bitch, we're in Middle Earth now?!_

Ganesha threw him an irritated look. "That, Dean Winchester, is Odin. Head of the Norse contingent. Nuttier than a fruitcake to begin with, and now seriously off his rocker."

Okay, not Gandalf. But, _damn,_ he really looked the part.

" _Winchester_!" he roared, his voice reverberating like a gong. "Filthy freer of that god-slaying get of Jehovah's! _You_ \- " He pointed with his staff. " _ **You**_ are the reason we are all trapped in this realm of Hel's!" He was striding angrily down the hallway towards them, growing larger with every step. The bird on his shoulder leaped off into the air and was joined by another; Odin gestured towards Dean and screamed, "Huginn! Muninn! Strike his eyes that he may be forever blinded!" The birds swirled around Odin three times, then began sweeping towards Dean.

"Well, shit. _He's_ not a happy camper!" Dean muttered.

"No, indeed," Ganesha answered. He stepped forward, raising his ax. "Odin, why don't you just settle down - "

Odin shrieked, a wordless scream of anger.

" - we'll find your anchor, and then you can get out of here."

" _ **NEVER!**_ " The sound roared in the narrow corridor, nearly deafening Dean. The god's single eye, blue and blazing, speared through him like something physical; Dean grunted and doubled over. "That filth must _PAY,_ and pay _DEARLY_ for what he has done! I'll make him wander the world a broken man, immortal and blind and in pain, with all his friends and family dead and gone, ashes and dust on the wind, ghosts tied to him, whining and moaning in pain and hatred - " The god ranted on, but Dean had tuned him out, eyes on the birds, which were approaching rapidly. Dean swung his bungeed nail at the same time Ganesha threw his ax, and both birds, squarely hit by iron, sputtered into nonexistence as one. Odin shrieked again, spittle flying from his lips.

"Jesus. How do we stop him?!" Dean panted. Another blast from Odin struck him, doubled him up, spun him around.

"I am the Remover of Obstacles, Dean. It is what I do. This could be considered an obstacle, don't you think?" With that, Ganesha stepped forward, retrieved his ax, and charged down the hallway, trumpeting through his trunk and spinning the ax so fast it became a blur. Dean saw Odin lift his staff, point it toward them, a blue bolt emanating from it -

And then he was lifted into the air, aimed at a wall, his head hit, and everything went black.


End file.
